r 




■ 



P. Outtkumt, 



In jftnttorimn 



OF THE 



REV. JOHN KENDRICK CONVERSE, 

FORMER PASTOR OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, 

PRINCIPAL OF THE BURLINGTON FEMALE SEMINARY, 

ETC., ETC. 



Cc-*ak>>"u^- v ^^yv*- *-* 



EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM. 



PRI NTED BY 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., PHILADELPHIA, 

i 88 i. 






From 
Africa* Colonization Society 
May 28, 1913- 



DEDICATION. 



Go, little book, and bear thy testimony to the rare purity and no- 
bility of life of him whom you memorialize. You are but a simple 
offering woven by. a daughter's hand, but will you but bear to the 
world the memory of his virtues, you will have fulfilled your mission. 

All unworthy as you are I send you forth, trusting that from the 

silence and shadows of the past the radiance of a good man's life 

may empurple the grim gray substance of the present. By those who 

knew him well, as Pastor, Teacher, Friend, you will not be needed. 

To those who knew him not, you bear the transcript of a singularly 

pure and beautiful life. 

L. S. C. 



INTRODUCTION 

BY THE REV. JAMES BUCKHAM, 

OF BURLINGTON, VT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Miss Converse, daughter of the late Rev. John K. Con- 
verse, is prepared to publish a brief memoir of her hon- 
ored father, and she asks me to write a few paragraphs by 
way of introduction to what she has to say concerning him, 
wishing me at the same time to give my estimate of his 
Christian and ministerial character. Though my acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Converse, who was by several years my 
junior, was never very close or intimate, it extended 
through a greater number of years, I think, than that of 
any other minister in the vicinity; and it is on this ground 
especially, as I imagine, that her request has been made. 
In view of the esteem in which I have always held Mr. 
Converse, and of the respect due to his surviving family, I 
have not felt it to be my duty to decline the task which 
I have been asked to undertake. 

My acquaintance with Mr. Converse dates from the time 

at which I first came from England into this country, and 

it may not be without interest to some whose eyes may fall 

7 



INTRODUCTION. 



on these lines to learn how it was brought about. On the 
morning of the 4th of July, 1834, I started from Whitehall, 
N. Y., by the lake steamer " Phoenix," to take Burlington 
on my way to New Hampshire, where I wished to visit a 
ministerial friend, who, like myself, had come from Eng- 
land, and with whom I had previously corresponded about 
my own removal to this country. It so happened, in the 
course of the voyage down the lake, that the shaft of the 
vessel was broken. This circumstance occasioned such a 
delay in my journey as made it necessary for me to remain 
in Burlington over the Sabbath which I had arranged to 
spend in New Hampshire. On my arrival here I called 
on the Rev. Dr. Wheeler, with whom also I had been 
favored with important information concerning the state 
of the churches in New England, and particularly in Ver- 
mont. He very kindly and generously invited me to be 
his guest while it was necessary for me to remain here, 
and soon he introduced me to Mr. Converse, then pastor 
of the church whose " meeting-house" was situated in 
" White Street." The kind and courteous manner in which 
Mr. Converse received me has never been forgotten, and 
his exceeding friendliness, taken in connection with the 
similar spirit of Dr. Wheeler, produced in my mind a most 
pleasing and hopeful expectation of the cordial welcome 
that I should meet with among the ministers of Vermont. 



INTR OD UCTION. 



Nor was that expectation in any measure ever disap- 
pointed. 

During the Sabbath that I spent in Burlington, which 
was the Communion Sabbath at the White Street Church, 
I heard Dr. Wheeler preach in the morning to the Unita- 
rian congregation from the text " Be courteous ;" and in 
the evening, at the request of Mr. Converse, I preached 
for him. Thus my first sermon in New England was de- 
livered in the pulpit of the White Street Meeting-House. 
I must not here forget to say that Mr. Converse had, but 
a short time previously, been married to a daughter of the 
Hon. Heman Allen, Member of Congress for the District 
of Vermont, and that he and his bride were then inmates 
of Mr. Allen's family, residing in the house which is now 
the parsonage of the Episcopal Society in this city. I was 
invited by Mr. Converse to take tea with him there, and 
while I was enjoying that very pleasant visit Mr. Allen 
arrived from Washington, the session of Congress having 
just come to a close. 

For some time Mr. Converse and I lived on different 
sides of the Green Mountain range. With this barrier 
between us, when the means of locomotion were very 
different from what they are now, we met but very seldom, 
and even when our respective fields of labor were nearer 
to each other, he had ceased to be pastor of the church in 

9 



INTR OD UCTION. 



Burlington, and was engaged in conducting a Ladies' Semi- 
nary in the city. The duties of that institution necessarily 
prevented him from appearing so often or so prominently, 
as had formerly been his wont, in his ministerial capacity. 
When he became the secretary and agent of the Coloniza- 
tion Society for New England he was very much from 
home, so that, on the whole, though I have known more 
or less of him for a long time, I have never had the oppor- 
tunity of becoming very intimately acquainted with him. 
My knowledge of him has been gained chiefly from the 
reports and opinions of others, who knew him much better 
than I did, and from my occasional intercourse with him at 
such meetings as ministerial associations, conferences, coun- 
cils, conventions, etc. But on the ground of all that I have 
learned, from these and other sources, concerning him, I 
have no hesitation in saying that, as it respects his minis- 
terial and Christian character, there can, I think, be but one 
opinion, viz., that it was not merely of a genuine, but also 
of an exemplary excellence. My decided conviction is, 
that by the example of holy living, which he was honored 
and enabled to exhibit while among us upon earth, he still, 
though now dead, addresses to all, and particularly to the 
members of his surviving family, and those who once lis- 
tened to his preaching in the White Street Church, if any 

such are still left among us, counsels and instructions which 

10 



INTR OD UCTION. 



it would be good and profitable frequently and seriously to 
ponder. 

The whole tenor of his life may well be understood as 
saying to all, whoever knew him, " Those things which ye 
have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, 
do, and the God of peace shall be with you." 

Whatever business Mr. Converse engaged in, as his 
stated employment for the time, he diligently and labori- 
ously discharged the various duties which it involved. 
Whatever he did he did with his whole heart as unto the 
Lord ; hence, while pastor of the church in this city, he 
not only performed the usual services of the sanctuary in 
a careful and orderly manner on the Sabbath, and at other 
stated times, but it was also his practice on different even- 
ings of the week to hold religious meetings in the sur- 
rounding neighborhood, where no one but himself seemed 
to care for the souls of those dwelling there. To such an 
extent did he carry this practice that I have heard those 
who had been his hearers complain of it, as though it in- 
fringed on the time and the study which might have been 
given to the work of elaborating more brilliant discourses 
for the pulpit on the Sabbath. But who doubts that, in 
pursuing such a plan, he acted more in accordance with 
the example of the Lord Jesus Christ and that of His 

Apostles than he would have done had he followed the 

ii 



IN TR OD UC TION. 



counsel of those who were ready to advise him to desist 
from his itinerant labors ? As an evidence of his diligence 
and his constant readiness to seize every opportunity of 
doing good which offered, I may remark that on the even- 
ing on which I preached for him, as he had a substitute in 
his pulpit, and was thus at liberty to labor elsewhere, he 
took the opportunity of going out into a neighboring 
locality — Colchester Centre, I think — to deliver a temper- 
ance lecture. 

When engaged in the business of the Colonization So- 
ciety his labors were often very abundant. He was fre- 
quently away from his home and from his family for weeks, 
and, if I mistake not, for months together, and was em- 
ployed most of the time in travelling from place to place, 
and preaching for the Society wherever and whenever he 
found the opportunity of doing so. On my last visit to 
him, which occurred a month or six weeks before his 
death, I was deeply affected by the sight of his enfeebled 
condition, and particularly by the unmistakable evidence 
that his mental faculties had become greatly impaired. 
His conversation showed me how strong was the hold 
which the interests of that institution had taken upon his 
heart and feelings. He continued to talk of a long journey 
into the State of Maine on the business of the Society, and 
as having just returned therefrom, though it appeared that 



12 



INTRODUCTION. 



he had not been away from home, nor to the church which 
he usually attended, nor even out of his dwelling, for a 
number of weeks. 

With regard to the manner in which Mr. Converse con- 
ducted his school for young ladies, I am wholly unable to 
speak from my own knowledge. But reasoning from the 
character of those by whom it was supported, I cannot 
doubt that it was worthy of the patronage which it received, 
or that Mr. Converse carried into his modes of instruction 
the same diligence and fidelity which characterized his 
labors in other departments of usefulness. Moreover, the 
general character of the numerous pupils who were trained 
under his care, and who, I believe, are scattered over almost 
all the different States of the Union, would, if it could be 
ascertained and examined, furnish a demonstration of the 
fact that in the school, as elsewhere, Mr. Converse proved 
himself to be a workman that needed not to be ashamed of 
his work. 

Mr. Converse was a man of a remarkably calm and even 
temperament. I do not remember an instance in which I 
ever saw him ruffled or unduly excited. Any one who has 
frequented such meetings as those he was in the habit of 
attending, knows full well that occasionally things are said 
or done which have a tendency to stir up feelings that 
ought to be suppressed, and lead to such language as ought 

13 



INTR OD UCTION. 



not to be uttered, but I never knew any such occurrences 
unduly discompose Mr. Converse, or disturb his usual 
equanimity. 

I have had but few opportunities of forming an opinion 
of the manner of Mr. Converse's preaching. In fact, I have 
not very often heard him preach, but, judging by the few 
instances in which I have enjoyed that privilege, I think I 
can safely affirm that his sermons were plain, scriptural 
truth, intelligible to all classes of men. I should say that 
the staple of his discourses were the great cardinal doc- 
trines of the Gospel, and that these discourses were deliv- 
ered in a calm, earnest, and affectionate manner. Cowper's 
description of the preacher — such as Paul, were he on earth, 
would hear, approve, and own — was as fully exemplified, I 
think, in Mr. Converse as almost any other minister that 
I have known : 

" Simple, grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, 
And natural in gesture ; much impressed 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too; affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men/' 



•4 



Xn ffltmovimn. 



" The Master is so fair, 
His smile, so sweet to banished men, 

That they who meet it unaware 
Can never rest on earth again. 

" It was not that our love was cold, 

That earthly lights were burning dim, 
But that the Shepherd from His fold 

Had smiled, and drawn him unto Him." 



in iHcinon'am. 



One beautiful Sabbath morning in early August a new 
minister occupied the pulpit of the old White Street 
Church. He was a man of apparently a little over thirty 
years of age, of medium height, prepossessing in appear- 
ance, and with a bearing so genial and courteous that every 
one seemed to be at once attracted to him. A long resi- 
dence at the South had worn away the reserve natural to 
his New England education, and an innate refinement and 
modesty had endowed him with a rare urbanity of manner. 
His dark hair, even then slightly tinged with silver, — rather 
remarkable in so young a man, — shaded a broad, white 
brow, beneath which, beaming with the radiance of intel- 
lect, shone the clear gray eye. The ruddy flush of perfect 
health crimsoned his cheek, and the happy, joyous counte- 
nance gave evidence of a mind at ease. Indeed, the tout 
ensemble gave to the eye a pleasant picture. At the open- 
ing of the service he appeared at first slightly embarrassed, 

and hesitated a little at the sight of so large and august a 

17 



IN MEMORIAM. 



congregation, — for many gray heads mingled with those of 
the younger members, — but soon the deep interest of his 
subject entirely engrossed his mind, to the exclusion of all 
earthly emotions. The responsibility of his calling, the 
consciousness of the great message which he bore to the 
listening throng before him, overcame all thought of self 
or self-surroundings. His audience, too, became most 
deeply interested, and listened in devout attention until the 
half-hour passed away, and the benediction closed the 
morning service. 

Then slowly, reverently, they filed down the church 
aisle, only to linger at the door for a glance or a greeting 
from the new minister. His courteous manner and quick, 
responsive sympathy, as he grasped their outstretched 
hands, at once endeared him to every heart, and their kind 
faces reflected a warm welcome to him. 

Such was the advent of a clergyman who, for nearly 
thirteen years, successfully occupied the pulpit of the First 
Congregational Church. 

The subject of this memorial, the Rev. John Kendrick 
Converse, was born in Lyme, N. H., on the 15th day of 
June, 1 801. He was the son of Joel and Elizabeth Con- 
verse. His father had for many years been a resident of 
the State of Connecticut, but had removed his family to 

New Hampshire a few years before. He purchased for a 

18 



IN MEMORIAM. 



fair sum a bleak hill-side farm, and on this farm, the 
youngest of nine children and the' seventh son, my father 
was born. He was, as the youngest, the pet and plaything 
of the house, and many wonderful tales of his youthful 
precocity and mirth-loving nature have been handed down 
to us by the elder ones of the family. 

In the varied routine of pioneer farm-life, " doing chores" 
on the farm in summer and attending school in winter, his 
childhood passed uneventfully away. There was one trait, 
however, that was perceptible even in childhood, and that 
was his earnestness, — his enthusiasm in everything in 
which he became interested. An evidence of this may be 
noted in his delight in the exuberance of nature, in the 
growth of the trees and foliage around him. While yet a 
boy he planted a long line of maple-trees beside the house. 
Those trees are now the beauty and pride of the old farm, 
and add their lustrous green or autumn bronze or gold to 
the quiet pastoral landscape. 

Always of a bright, joyous disposition, and active in all 
out-door pursuits, yet from his earliest childhood he was 
fond of books. He has often said that he could not re- 
member the time when he could not read, and when so 
small that he could not with safety be placed in an ordinary 
chair he would sit on a foot-stool and read Bible-stories 
from the open book placed in a chair before him. His 

19 



IN ME MORI AM. 



mother was an eminently pious woman, and in her daily 
communion with her children she talked to them as natur- 
ally and freely about God, and their duty and love for Him, 
as she did of the every-day duties about them. Hence it 
seemed as if from his earliest youth he grew up in the 
companionship of his Heavenly Father; and in his religious 
life he always evinced that wonderful childlike faith and 
trust in his Saviour which seemed to be the very essence of 
his being. An all-pervading spirit of religion was domi- 
nant in that harmonious family. All the brothers and 
sisters, I believe, grew up earnest, sincere Christian men 
and women, marked by a rare purity of life, and an un- 
blemished honesty of purpose and dealing with their 
fellows. 

Even in childhood he accomplished whatever he under- 
took. When about eleven years of age some one presented 
him with a small drum. It was but a child's toy, but he 
soon made it an effective musical instrument. He became 
in a very short time an expert drummer. Indeed, he 
succeeded so admirably that soon he was promoted to the 
dignified position of drummer to the brass band of the 
village. His eyes would glisten at the remembrance of 
those childhood's days, as he told us the story. He said, 
" When I applied for the position, and stood before the 

members of the band, great, stalwart men as they were, — 

20 



IN MEMO RI AM. 



many of them old enough to be my grandfather, — they 
looked at me rather derisively, for I was but eleven years 
of age and small for my age. They said, ' Well, sonny, 
let us hear you play the drum.' But after I had accom- 
panied several airs, in different time, creditably, they 
seemed quite overcome with astonishment, and readily 
gave me the vacant place." The band was a kind of ad- 
junct to the New Hampshire militia, and thus, when they 
marched to the capital of the State, he went with them. 
He would say " that he never should forget his mingled 
pride and patriotism the first time he donned his bright 
scarlet and white uniform and marched away with the 
band to the ' training.' " Those "training-days" were jubi- 
lant days for him, and he ever held them in joyous remem- 
brance. He became a great favorite in the company, and 
when weary with a hot summer day's marching, they 
would often place him in some wagon in attendance and 
let him rest. In after-life, if he ever saw a boy with a 
drum, he would take it and play it for a moment, saying, 
" it brought back his childhood's days," and his eyes 
would glisten as he recounted his experience with the 
militia on " training-days." 

Another marked feature of his early life was his determi- 
nation to obtain a preparatory and afterwards a collegiate 

education. Both he and his elder brothers and sisters were 

21 



IN ME MO R I AM. 



given every educational advantage that the village afforded; 
but these were but meagre. An elder brother had left home 
for college, but the rest had contented themselves with the 
advantages of the place. My father, although yet a lad, was 
most eager and ambitious for something better, and deter- 
mined to secure it if possible. His father, although by no 
means a poor man, yet, with a large family of children, was 
unable to do much more than start them in life. Therefore 
my father determined to help himself. He worked for his 
father extra hours, and thereby acquired a small sum of 
money, which he laid by for the future. Then, when about 
sixteen, he began buying up pine logs, which he converted 
into shingles. Pine logs were very plenty in those days, 
however, and shingles were very cheap, and it took him 
some three years to feel that he had enough to start out 
into the world with. But when about nineteen years of 
age, with the money earned by the sale of his shingles, 
and some two hundred dollars more added by his father, he 
left the old homestead and went forth among strangers to 
gain an education and lay the foundations for his future life. 
He went rather, if anything, against the wishes of his 
friends, especially his boyhood's friends, as they thought 
him exceedingly unwise to give up a good home and the 
rural pleasures of the farm for the more precarious life 
of a scholar. Before leaving Lyme he made a public pro- 

22 



IN MEMORIAM. 



fession of religion and united with the Presbyterian Church. 
He first went to Thetford, where he was under the excel- 
lent tuition of Rev. John Fitch. He worked assiduously 
and was soon prepared to enter college. In the fall of 
1823 he entered Dartmouth College, and began at last 
the long-wished-for, long-toiled-for student-life. He was 
an untiring scholar, and the closest application marked 
his progress towards the end he had set before him. The 
life of the student had a charm for him which never lost 
its hold upon his imagination. Though a great devourer 
of books, and although his mind was of a most expansive 
tendency, he did not overlook the importance of a thor- 
ough substratum. He worked industriously at all the 
branches of the college course, but he greatly preferred 
the ancient languages. Latin he thoroughly enjoyed, and 
the musical cadence of Greek verse, he said, was as sooth- 
ing as the evening tide lapping the beach. Mathematics 
and the sciences, with the exception of chemistry, he 
was not as fond of; but he shirked nothing: he was 
patient and thorough in everything. The old English 
writers, poets, and dramatists were keenly enjoyed, and 
he read them with a discriminating sense of their beauty 
and vigor. Deeply interested in the literature of the Mid- 
dle Ages, he read everything which he could command 
bearing on that important period. With his reading he 

23 



IN ME MORI AM. 



never lost sight of the practical end of self-culture, and 
preferred those writers who possessed profound moral sen- 
timent and intensity of feeling. These traits he considered 
the peculiar characteristics of modern genius. 

His devotion to his studies and literary pursuits did not 
prevent the cultivation of the social affections of his nature. 
Though a student, he was not a hermit, and he considered 
intellectual intercourse incomparably of greater benefit than 
any culture which could be acquired from books alone. 
He greatly enjoyed the discussions of the literary clubs 
and societies, believing the unrestrained interchange of 
thought the best of discipline and a healthful spur to 
literary activity. He realized that both to the scholar 
and to the theologian they were of great importance, and 
already he was looking forward to the latter career. This 
was to be the ultimate object of his course. He conscien- 
tiously sought to govern himself by pure morality, and to 
subordinate the ambition of the scholar, great as it was, 
to the higher aims of the Christian. He proved by his 
own example that intellectual diligence was compatible 
with deep, earnest, religious feeling. Although an ardent 
scholar, his mind was not given to research and speculative 
inquiry alone, his interest was in all that was conducive to 
the highest religious elevation. With an humble, inquiring 

spirit, he sought for the highest knowledge. With meek- 

24 



IN MEMORIAM. 



ness and lowliness of mind he strove for the purity of 
Christ. From the extracts from a diary kept by him during 
his college-life at Dartmouth, one can readily form an idea 
of the Christian simplicity of the man united to the enthu- 
siasm of the scholar. 

"September 17, 1824. — I have now entered upon the sec- 
ond, my Sophomore year. One year has passed away with 
amazing rapidity, and it has left me, I fear, but little 
wiser than it found me. But of one thing I am certain, — 
it has left me with embarrassment almost unparalleled. 
After practising the most rigid economy, and using every 
exertion in my power to meet the demands and bills that 
are frequently brought against me, I find it utterly impossi- 
ble to keep even with the world. But notwithstanding 
these difficulties I must go on. If I now give over the 
idea of acquiring an education I shall not only violate my 
own feelings, but also give occasion to the world to point 
the finger of scorn at me, and say, ' That man began to 
build and was not able to finish.' Such a step would 
excite a kind of temporal envy among those who once 
claimed an equality with me, and perhaps imagined that I 
was too aspiring to seek that education which gives a pre- 
eminence to those who are possessed of it. Besides, it 
would betoken indecision of character to relinquish a pur- 
suit to which one has devoted a portion of the best part of 

25 



IN MEMORIAM. 



his life, even if circumstances were such as to justify the 
deed in the opinion of the more candid and judicious. 
Such a pretence could not be admitted among those of less 
understanding. It is undoubtedly wrong, and a feeling 
that ought not to be indulged in, to be continually harbor- 
ing inauspicious forebodings of our future. But in my 
situation I cannot avoid falling at times into reflections like 
these. The ways of Providence appear unequal. I con- 
sider ' how many of my fellow-students have enough and 
to spare, while I suffer with want.' But, then, I think, per- 
haps, after all, I might be inclined to habits of inattention 
to study, even of dissipation of time, talents, and money, if 
I were as well supplied with pecuniary means as some 
others, whose lot is much more favored ; and on this sup- 
position, it is a mercy rather than a misfortune that I am 
situated as I am. 

"September 18. — To-day attended public worship in the 
sanctuary of God. The text — from Ezekiel — was a denun- 
ciation of the Jews as sinners: the denunciation also holds 
good at the present day. As to myself, it seems impos- 
sible for the Lord not to be against me, or, I should rather 
say, inconsistent with such a load of guilt against me, 
with such depravity of heart and conscience, such a total 
estrangement from Him, such a want of appreciation of His 

love and mercy to me. I am sometimes led to the belief 

26 



IN MEMOKIAM. 



that I have no part or lot in the subject of religion. But 
God alone knoweth the heart. He is a heart-searching, 
rein-trying, sin-pardoning God, — and may I make it my 
duty and delight to surrender myself entirely into His hands, 
to do with me according to His own good will and pleasure." 

" September 30. — I this morning received the gratifying 
but unexpected pleasure of the notice of my election into 
the Adelphian Society. This I had in nowise expected; 
far from it. From my election into this society I shall feel 
my heart cheered, as I see it indicates that I have some 
friends, and these very valuable, if considered in relation 
to the best literary attainments. For these and all other 
tokens of appreciation I trust I may not prove ungrate- 
ful. Although I am deprived of many advantages which 
others of my fellow-students enjoy, I hope I shall be wise 
to improve those in my possession so as to reflect honor 
upon myself and my friends, and prepare me for eminent 
future usefulness in this world, for enjoyment of that which 
is to come.'' 

"October 2. — To the mind given to reflection there is a 
peculiar pleasure in resting from the noisy scenes of active 
life and giving ourselves up to retrospection. To the 
Christian especially it is imperative that he should seek 
in solitude for daily self-communing, and it is in the soli- 
tude of the closet that he holds communion with his God. 

27 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Withdrawn from outside influences, here he can pour out 
his soul in prayer to that Being before whom he soon 
expects to appear to be judged of the deeds done in the 
body. Occasional retirement is also necessary for the 
Christian, to contemplate the attributes and the grandeur of 
God ; to examine his own heart and conduct ; to ascertain 
whether his life corresponds with the model in the Scrip- 
tures, to which he is to assimilate all his deportment, and 
by which he is to regulate his own conduct and temper. 
Oh that my zeal may be measured with His love ! that I 
may enjoy His favor, which is life, and His loving kindness, 
which is better than life ! May I look to Heaven for wis- 
dom and protection to guide me in all my ways, and may 
the God of Israel be my hope and my shield !" 

"February 27, 1825. — I last night returned to Hanover, 
from Acton, Mass., where I have spent the winter in the 
character of teacher. Every fresh year's experience shows 
me the responsibility incurred by him who undertakes the 
early education of children and youth. Would the teach- 
ers of our common schools but consider the morals and 
manners of their pupils, as well as their minds ; would 
they but bear in mind that they are sowing seed for eter- 
nity ; that young immortals are committed to their charge; 
that they are responsible for their example and influence 

before them, and must shortly meet them at the bar of 

28 



IN MEMO RI AM. 



God, they would enlist every energy of their souls to pro- 
mote their temporal and spiritual welfare. As it respects 
myself, I hope I can look back with some degree of satis- 
faction upon the advancement of my pupils in their rudi- 
mentary education, and even in the sciences. But, oh ! 
have I set always before them such moral and religious 
principles as are essential to their peace here and hereafter ? 
Has my example always been as it should be ? God grant 
that if I ever again am placed in the capacity of instructor, 
a situation so favorable for doing good and promoting His 
interests, I may be more faithful ; that I may be more 
solicitous in promoting the eternal interests of those com- 
mitted to my charge ; that I may ever be guided in the way 
of right and truth !" 

" Sabbath evening, April 3. — The sources of error are so 
numerous ! Previous to my connection with college-life 
I looked upon a residence at college with the most ele- 
vated expectations ! I conceived it a season peculiarly 
adapted to the promotion of vital piety and the acquisition 
of religious knowledge. For the latter purpose, for him 
who ardently wished for improvement and who resolutely 
endeavored towards it, a college course affords many valu- 
able opportunities. But from the experience of nearly two 
years, I have formed an opinion differing widely from my 

former views. I have learned that a college-life may be a 

29 



IN MEMORIAM. 



dangerous one not only to piety, but even to morality and 
principle. It is a period in life which gives a permanent 
coloring to one's character. Often it is of a happy nature, 
and the seeds of rectitude and honor blossom and bear rich 
fruit in after-life ; but should it be to the contrary, it strikes 
at the very root of moral principle and destroys every noble 
and generous feeling of the heart. So numerous are the 
temptations held out to the youth of quick feelings that he 
needs the most constant watchfulness and prayer to keep 
himself in the Christian path. 

"Time rolls by so rapidly. In a little more than two 
months I shall have ended my second year in college. 
When I look forward and see how much yet remains to be 
accomplished and how little I have really gained, I blush 
for my ignorance and for my small attainments, especially 
in classical knowledge. I feel my deficiency, and mourn 
for my shortcomings." 

"October 21. — During many occasions in this last term 
I have enjoyed the means of extending my acquaintance 
in society, hence of studying human nature in various 
forms. This, indeed, is a branch of knowledge not easily 
obtained from books, but one as indispensable to him who 
anticipates the ministry as that of surgery or anatomy to 
him who expects to administer to the physical welfare of 
his fellow-beings." 



IN MEMORIAM. 



"November 5. — The present state of religious feeling in 
college does not give us reason to expect an immediate 
outpouring of the Spirit of God. Surrounded by gay 
and impenitent companions, who ought to derive benefit 
from my example, and whose blood will, at the last day, be 
required at my hands, enjoying, too, myself, so many tem- 
poral blessings from the hand of God, I have become, in 
a measure, insensible to His goodness and indifferent to 
the present and eternal welfare of my immortal soul. Oh 
God ! wilt Thou not awaken me to a sense of my awful 
situation ? Show me the folly of thus sacrificing Thy favor 
for the unsatisfying indulgence of worldly pleasures. Show 
me the depravity of my heart and the vanity of all worldly 
good. Restore unto my soul the joys of Thy salvation. 
Bring me near unto Thee, and suffer me no longer to 
wander in forbidden paths, but return me unto Thyself. 
Make me to love Thy law and to rejoice in Thy word, that 
I may thus become the willing instrument of Thy power 
in doing good to the souls of men." 

This ends the diary at Dartmouth College. 

Among his classmates and associates at Dartmouth there 
were two young men whom he especially loved, and who 
became his life-long friends. The names of both have long 
since become eminent for classical lore and scholarly at- 
tainments. Their names were Charles Dexter Cleveland 

31 



IN MEMORIAM. 



and Alpheus Crosby. Both became, afterwards, distin- 
guished not only for their signal success in their profession, 
but as men developing great truths as a heritage for pos- 
terity. Mr. Crosby was several years younger than my 
father, — a mere boy, — but his fair, delicate face even then 
gave promise of the rare intellectual strength which accom- 
plished so much in after-years. I cannot better allude to 
him than by quoting a brief article written by my father, 
at the request of his brother after his death, a few years 
since : 

"When the Freshman class assembled in September, 
1823, for their first recitation, sitting in alphabetical order, 
I found at my left hand a most interesting youth, dressed 
as small boys were then accustomed to be dressed, with a 
ruffled collar turned back over his coat-collar. When the 
roll of the class was called he answered to the name of 
Alpheus Crosby. I loved him at once, — so youthful, so 
genial, so intelligent, — and a mutual attachment sprang up 
between us which ended only with his useful life. We 
were often together out of study-hours. He boarded 
across the park, at Professor ShurtlefFs. He had one 
peculiar habit, which I shall never forget. In the coldest 
winter weather I never knew him to wear an overcoat or 
cloak in coming to his morning recitation, but he would 

come to his seat in the recitation-room and nestle under 

32 



IN MEMORIAM. 



my large camlet cloak to keep himself warm. Thirty years 
afterwards, at one of our class-meetings, he inquired of me, 
1 What has become of the camlet cloak?' " 

They were all assiduous students, and rarely missed a 
recitation. At the roll-call at morning prayers the names of 
Cleveland, Converse, Crosby, always met with a responsive 
echo. For a long period of time their ranks remained un- 
broken, and every successive Commencement found them 
generally again together. Then the thread of life was cut, 
and two of the three vanished from the earth and left their 
places empty. But a few short years rolled by, and then 
the third was called to meet them in their heavenly home. 
And now once more, at the higher roll-call of the Master, 
to the names of "Cleveland," " Converse," " Crosby," they 
again respond in unbroken order! 

Those beautiful old college-days ! How he loved to go 
over them again ! to recount their literary and social gath- 
erings, their college games and amusements, and, above all, 
the quiet, peaceful hours spent in the companionship of 
some loved friend ! He felt great affection for all his class- 
mates, and always took the deepest interest in their after- 
life. 

After remaining in college a little over two years, he 
found himself so embarrassed pecuniarily that he deter- 
mined to leave for a while and teach. He had spent his 

33 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Sophomore winter at Acton, Mass., and in his Junior win- 
ter he became the principal of quite a large school at 
Keene, N. H. 

He was more than successful as far as his duties as a 
teacher were concerned, and it was greatly desired by his 
employers that he should continue for a longer period. 
His salary was not very large, however, and feeling that 
time was very precious, he determined to go to Virginia, 
where he had an elder brother located, and see what he 
could accomplish there. Accordingly, at the end of his 
winter term at Keene, he started for Virginia. His pecu- 
niary necessities pressed heavily upon him, and he realized 
that he could not complete his college course without 
extra funds. He was more than two weeks en route, travel- 
ling at that time was so tedious ; but finally he reached 
Nottoway, Va., where he established a classical school for 
youth. 

"Keene, N. H., December 18. — Came to this place about 
three weeks since, and am engaged teaching a school of 
about one hundred pupils. The duties accompanying such 
a charge, with the other demands upon my time, leave me 
but little opportunity for reading and reflection. 

"Student-life, together with the pursuit of science and 
literature, though not as productive of the exalted pleas- 
ures that the poet's fancy has attributed to them, still holds 

34 



IN MEMORIAM. 



charms for me far more attractive than the life of a peda- 
gogue. His perplexities are numerous. He spends the 
day in striving to enlighten ignorance ; to awaken stupidity 
and mental lethargy to action ; to subdue obstinacy ; to 
eradicate wrong ideas and principles, and substitute in their 
stead sound ones. To execute successfully all these differ- 
ent functions requires the exercise of great strength of 
mind, health of body, and a greater variety of Christian 
and moral qualities than is often to be found in one indi- 
vidual. My school flourishes, and my success meets the 
expectation of my employers, I believe. My situation is 
indeed a responsible one, and I feel it to be such. Oh that 
I could succeed in instilling into the minds of those in- 
trusted to my care such principles as shall form their future 
character for the good and noble in life, and form their 
minds for the life to come ! I have frequently considered 
it unfortunate that I should be forced to occupy the winter 
months in teaching instead of study and reflection ; but, 
after all, there is scarcely any situation better calculated to 
afford a knowledge of human nature as it exists in all its 
forms, — undisguised and distinct." 

"January I, 1826. — I have this day commenced a new 
year in my existence. The last has fled by with the 
rapidity of the wind. Its scenes have passed away, never 
to come back again, and only their results remain. The 

35 



IN MEM0R1AM. 



question comes to me most forcibly, How much have I 
gained in moral and religious knowledge during the year ? 
And how much have I contributed to the real welfare of 
the human race ? The emotions awakened by a retrospect 
of its fleeting days are of a different character from what 
I sometimes wish they were. For the good measure of 
health and strength that God has given me to enjoy, and 
for the means given me of enabling me to pursue my 
studies, without the drawbacks of sickness and indigence, 
I have abundant reason to be thankful. But in return for 
so great mercy what have I done for God? On the review 
of the past I find I have done so little for Him. I have 
done much that I ought not to have done, and I have left 
undone so much that I ought to have done." 

"Nottoway County, Va., March 15, 1826. — I left New Eng- 
land for this place on the 10th of February, and after a 
journey of two weeks arrived here on the 28th. I am now 
instructing a school of some twenty-eight pupils, — a clas- 
sical school, as it is called here. 

" The school is worth to me fully seven hundred dollars 

per year, besides my board. I reside in the family of Dr. 

Dupuy, a prominent planter. My situation here is most 

agreeable and pleasant in every respect. We have in the 

family good society, good living, good books, and good 

everything! We enjoy all the untold pleasures of life; 

36 



IN ME MORI AM. 



while in our retirement we are free from numberless intru- 
sions and demands, which urge themselves upon the time 
of those who pass their lives in cities. Mrs. Dupuy is an 
elegant and accomplished lady, and unites in her character 
both accomplishments and virtues. 

" Dr. Dupuy is no less interesting, perhaps, in his ways. 
He is well informed, converses easily and with ability on 
most subjects, but enjoys most — as do most Virginians — 
those connected with the politics of the day. He has a 
family of lovely children, the eldest of whom are in school. 
This family seems peculiarly favored by fortune. They are 
wealthy, agreeable, accomplished, and all is peace and 
happiness, mutual respect and mutual harmony. With 
Virginia I am well pleased. There are many things here 
entirely new to me, as they are to every New England 
man. The manners of the Virginians are easy, open, and 
familiar. There is in them a delightful freedom, calculated 
to remove all restraint and embarrassment, even in circles 
where one is but slightly acquainted. 

" There is not as much affected dignity and assumed im- 
portance as in New England. Old and young, rich and 
poor, whenever they happen to meet in the same company, 
are all treated nullo discrimine. 

"In the fondness of Virginians for horses, in the chase and 
other amusements, one can discover traits of their English 

V 



IN MEMORIAM. 



ancestry. With all this delightful life and generous, noble 

hospitality, there is very little religion, — or perhaps I should 

say, few religious privileges. It is a moral waste, — there is 

no foundation for the future." 

" Nottoway, Va., March 21. — This morning an event took 

place which, I trust, will have a happy influence on my 

Christian character. Soon after entering the school-room 

I was informed by one of my pupils that a person at the 

door wished to see me. There was no one then at the door, 

but as I opened it, I saw in the yard, not far from it, a man 

sitting on the ground. He was an entire stranger to me. 

I approached him and passed the compliments of the day 

with him, not without wondering what could be the nature 

of his business with me. As he turned his face to me I 

saw it filled with the deepest grief and anxiety. After 

hesitating a little he said, ' I am lost and I want you to 

direct me where to go.' I asked him where he wished to 

go ? ' To heaven !' he replied, in a voice broken with 

tears. He then proceeded to say, ' I've been a very wicked 

man and lived a very immoral life; but now I wish to do 

better, and I fear the consequences of the past. I wish to 

go to heaven and I do not know the way. I heard that 

you were a Christian, and I thought you might direct me 

and tell me what to do.' I was so much overcome by the 

unexpected inquiry, by the anxious solicitude expressed in 

33 



IN MEMORIAM. 



every feature and action, that I knew not what to say. 
Alas ! the way to heaven seemed to be dark with impene- 
trable clouds to my own soul, and I greatly feared that I 
myself had never known the way. I replied to the stranger, 
' I am indeed happy in the opportunity of a conversation 
with you on so interesting a subject. May God lead you, 
guide you, bless you ! Pray to Him to give you a new 
heart, a free pardon of all your sins. Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ and put your trust in His merits. Read your 
Bible diligently and with prayerful attention, and remember 
that He is ever ready to receive back to His fold the erring 
one.' I conversed with him as long as possible for me, and 
promised to meet him again." 

"Nottoway, Va., April 8. Sabbath evening. — Last even- 
ing I heard there was to be a kind of conventicle to-day 
of the slaves from different plantations, so I took measures 
to be present. Some three hundred negroes were present 
in a field near Dr. Dupuy's seat. They formed a kind of 
rude pulpit under a tree, and around it they built seats with 
planks and boards. Jack, the preacher, was a slave of the 
doctor's. He far exceeded my expectations. He repeats 
over the first line of every hymn to his audience, and they 
sing in full chorus ; and though occasionally a discordant 
voice met the ear, generally, the singing was very sweet and 
spontaneous. The speaker selected for his subject our 

39 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Saviour's words to Martha, ' But Mary hath chosen the 
good part, which shall never be taken away from her.' 

" Many of his ideas were very good, far better than I had 
thought him capable of; and although clothed in broken 
language and somewhat disconnected, yet the belief that 
they sprung from the heart, and were the undisguised 
expressions of sincerity, gave them an influence of which 
better language is ofttimes destitute. 

" I could not, however, refrain from smiling at some of 
the figures of speech of which he made use to illustrate his 
subject. In alluding to the eagerness of the ' world' to 
ridicule those who profess Christianity, he said, 'The world 
is alius on the lookout for them persons who want to profess 
religion,' . . . 'just like a faithful overseer is alius looking 
after us to see just what we do.' My attention was deeply 
attracted to the solemnity that pervaded every countenance. 
Many were in tears, groaning and sobbing under their 
chains of servitude, — not earthly oppression, although that 
was grievous enough, but under the bondage of sin and 
Satan. 

" The condition of the slaves is deplorable enough. They 
are not only excluded from all hope of freedom for this life, 
but the iron-hearted policy of Virginia would even exclude 
them from the hope of spiritual emancipation in the life to 

come, by prohibiting the word of God from being preached 

40 



IN MEMORIAM. 



to them. To give them intellectual information to any 
extent might be incompatible with their condition, and 
inconsistent with their subordination and the general safety 
of the community. But in Heaven's chancery there is no 
law that shall exclude a mortal from those truths on which 
his eternal welfare depends." 

I would say here that of the many pupils that attended 
the school in Nottoway was one — a brother of Mrs. Dupuy 
— who afterwards became notorious by an action which 
was the result of a mistaken zeal, doubtless long since re- 
pented of. Edmund Ruffin was his name, and the first gun 
fired in the late rebellion was by his hand ! He was a very 
studious, quiet lad in school, and quite a favorite with his 
teacher, but a true Virginian, and the conviction that his 
State demanded such an act of aggression misled him. 
While in the family of his sister he was ever an upright, 
honorable youth, and displayed many qualities which made 
him very agreeable. 

The life of comparative ease and leisure which marked 
my father's residence on this Virginia plantation was a great 
respite to the labors and trials of the previous years. Be- 
fore this every moment had to be husbanded, time was so 
precious and time was so short; but in Virginia, although 
he worked zealously in school hours and with school duties, 
and read much afterwards, yet the climate, so much warmer 

4i 



IN MEMORIAM. 



than he was accustomed to, necessitated some relaxation, 
and these leisure hours were devoted to the claims of so- 
ciety and friends. Consequently his manners acquired a 
change. Always genial and courteous from a child, yet a 
certain restraint, peculiar to New England life, had hitherto 
bound him, as it were, in conventionalities. These were 
gradually done away with in his easy, unconstrained life, 
so free from formality and so brimming over with hospi- 
tality and graceful, agreeable society. This period and his 
subsequent residence in Virginia endowed him with that 
rare ease of manner and genial courtesy which impressed 
his friends when he returned to them, and which, in the 
whole of his long life, never left him. 

A certain deference always shown to ladies, whether 
young or old, and a wonderful delicacy and refinement of 
feeling towards them, akin to the true chivalric spirit, were 
perceptible in his manner. Indeed, it was often said, in 
after-years, that he was more chivalrous and more cour- 
teous to ladies than many young men, and often, even when 
he was aged and feeble and his steps were tottering, he 
would never allow a lady to go to her carriage unattended 
when he was present. 

To the poor and helpless he was, if possible, still more 
attentive. Many a time I have seen him, even when old 

age had impaired the free use of his limbs, rise in a car or 

42 



IN MEMORIAM. 



omnibus and offer his seat to some one who was much 
more able to stand than he was. A true gentleman in 
every respect, he was delicate to refinement in all his ideas 
of life, and to that delicacy of feeling added the truest 
ideas of right and honor. In his ministerial efforts after- 
wards, his hearty, genial manner and his graceful bearing 
had very much to do in promoting the success which he 
achieved. To the young he was always companion, as well 
as teacher and friend, and to the last days of his active life 
he always had a way of interesting himself in their pastimes 
or pursuits, so that they involuntarily forgot that he was 
their senior by so many years, but felt that confidence and 
interest which they would have for one of their more 
youthful companions. 

But to go back to the diary. The next entry is at the 
close of his school year. 

"December 24. — I have this day closed my school in 
Nottoway, having continued it for forty weeks. I have 
now been in Virginia ten months; have enjoyed good 
health, and generally good spirits, except occasionally 
from a want of society. From the lonely, retired situations 
chosen by the Virginians for their residences, one would 
judge them to be unsocial, and even inhospitable, but they 
are very far from that. One seldom meets with the house 
of a wealthy Virginian on the main road, so he may travel 

43 



IN MEMORIAM. 



forty miles and perhaps only see a few houses of the better 
class. The roads are usually laid out on the ridges or up- 
lands, where the soil is least productive. For these reasons 
the traveller passing through the country is liable to form 
very unfavorable opinions of it. On the whole, take the Vir- 
ginians as a people, and they show more hospitality — they 
have more leisure in which to do so — than the people at the 
North. There is a republican simplicity in their manners 
which is very engaging. There is a more unequal distribu- 
tion of wealth than at the North ; also more misery, more 
wretchedness among the lower classes, which are entirely 
thrown out of employment by the use of slave labor. The 
Yankees (as they here call the people of the North) have 
less hospitality, but more state and ceremony in their inter- 
course ; more taste and splendor in the arrangement of 
their houses and furniture. At the North there are more 
schools and colleges, consequently a greater diffusion of 
knowledge, more happiness and intelligence in every class 
of society. At the North the people are more enterprising 
and active, more ambitious for wealth and competence. 
The Virginians are more indolent, more luxurious, and im- 
moral in their habits. At the North the people are more 
frugal in their table luxuries, more abstemious in their 
habits. At the South they are more given to epicurean- 
ism. In short, if I decided to pass my life in seclusion and 

44 



IN MEMORIAM. 



inactivity and luxurious indolence, give me Virginia ; if a 
life of action and enterprise, with a participation in those 
pleasures which flow from the inspiration of the beauties 
of nature and art, from scenes of industrious and well- 
organized society, give me the land of the Puritans." 

"Hampden Sidney College, January 19, 1827. — When I 
left New England, it was my resolution to return at the end 
of one year and join college in the same standing I was in 
when I left, and take my degree with my old classmates. 
Circumstances have induced me to alter those plans. The 
considerations which induced me to change my course 
were the following: the imprudence of undertaking a long 
journey in the midst of winter, and exposing myself to 
the rigors of a Northern winter immediately after passing 
the warm season here ; also better encouragement for busi- 
ness here, in case I should decide to teach another year 
previous to studying a profession; and lastly, I shall prob- 
ably receive my degree here earlier than I could had I 
returned to Hanover; and this is desirable, as I am grow- 
ing old, am now twenty-five. But, after all, whether the 
course I am taking is best, whether I shall look back upon 
it with satisfaction or regret, is a question which, if my life 
is spared, is left for time alone to decide." 

"March 15. — I have somewhat regretted my connec- 
tion with this institution already. Proper discipline is not 

45 



IN MEMORIAM. 



maintained, little or no moral influence is exerted over the 
students, and profane language and the most daring blas- 
phemy are prevailing vices in the institution. Sabbath- 
breaking and intemperance also are besetting sins of this 
whole land, and are growing up among the students into 
vices which, if not checked in season, will ruin their char- 
acters not only for early youth, but for all time. Much 
does this institution need the influences of religion. May 
God bestow those blessings upon us, which in His mercy 
He has been pleased to bestow in plenteous effusion upon 
many colleges in our country! Although this institution 
has been chartered and has been in operation more than 
fifty years ; though it has had some eminently pious men 
connected with it at several times who were fit instruments, 
as it would seem, for bringing about the good of souls ; 
although a theological seminary has been in its neighbor- 
hood for several years; yet with all these means of religious 
instruction it has never but once been blessed with a revival 
of religion." 

The next entry in his diary is dated at Richmond, Va., 
whither he had returned after his graduation at Hampden 
Sidney. 

"Richmond, Va. } October I. — I received upon the 2ist 
of September my degree of A.B. at Hampden Sidney Col- 
lege. I pronounced an English oration on the occasion, 

46 



IN MEMORIAM. 



the subject being 'Classical Education: the benefits which 
would result from a more rational and practical system.' 
Also had a valedictory oration on the evening of the same 
day, before the Philanthropic Society, the subject ' Origin 
and Influence of Literary Societies.' I received several 
flattering assurances from the audience of the acceptability 
of these discourses. On the 28th took the stage for Rich- 
mond, where I am spending a few weeks in the editorial 
chair of the Visitor and Telegraph and Literary Maga- 
zine." 

Thus, always busy, always at work, as soon as one 
sphere of action is withdrawn another fills its place, and in 
his earnestness of purpose he presses on to new sources of 
culture and progress. At a period when most young men 
allow themselves a rest on the roadside of life, after a four 
years' college course of incessant study and labor, he did 
not pause, but pursued — courageously, unfalteringly — his 
high purpose. There are few men who in the face of the 
bitter obstacles that so frequently presented themselves in 
his path would have achieved a collegiate and theological 
education. But he felt he was on the road of duty and of 
right, and he never swerved from it. 

The eagerness which he in after-years displayed for the 
education of his own children bore with it deep pathos 

when he said, " I give you the best I have to give, and I 

47 



IN MEMORIAM. 



trust you will appreciate those advantages which your 
father had to struggle so hard for, unaided and alone !" 

Two other entries in his diary are of exceeding interest. 
The first is a short resume of his life for the last seven years. 
" It is now over seven years since I became master of my 
time and myself, since I left the labors of the farm for the 
more pleasing but equally arduous pursuits of the scholar. 
These years have been years of pleasure. They have quickly 
fled away. They have been years of health, of success in my 
pursuits, and, for the most part, years of prosperity to my 
friends and kindred. For the unnumbered blessings I have 
received from the hand of God during these years I pray that 
He may make me truly grateful. In every enterprise that 
I have engaged in He has been with me and guided me 
safely through ! More than two-thirds of these years have 
been spent in preparing for and in passing through college. 
When I commenced this course the path looked rugged 
and cheerless ; dark shadows pressed close upon me from 
every side. I was without means of going forward. I was 
cast alone upon the world to choose a path for myself, and 
although I had friends, they seemed not willing to aid me 
by their counsel, but left me entirely to the decision of my 
own judgment. 

" My parents, though not poor, had not the means to 

portion comfortably a large family of children. Therefore 

48 



IN MEMORIAM. 



it was the custom with my father to give them a small sum, 
and with this let them go out into the world and seek or 
make their fortune in whatever pursuit they might choose. 
This sum, never over two hundred dollars, was lessened by 
half in case they left the paternal roof before they were 
of age. Accordingly I had my choice, and I chose to 
leave the farm during my minority. I started out in the 
world alone, unaided in many respects, a free man, subject 
to no control but my own self-respect and Christian leader- 
ship. I had only a tolerable common-school English edu- 
cation, no knowledge whatever of the outside world ; 
wholly destitute of experience, I commenced the world 
for myself. I was without friends or patrons who could 
advance me in any profitable business, and without those 
competent to advise me, with the exception of one person, 
an elder brother, — Amasa, — at that time in college. I was 
almost destitute of money, as all the money I was then 
possessed of, after procuring my outfit and books, was but 
one hundred and twenty dollars. I received a small por- 
tion from my father, and the sum realized from a small 
flock of sheep loaned out at fair interest brought me in 
fifty dollars more. These sheep were the product of one 
sheep given me in my infancy. Thus circumstanced I 
was to commence the journey of life. Like Hercules, in 
that beautiful allegory of Addison, I think it is, I saw 

49 



IN MEMOKIAM. 



many roads before me but knew not which to take. As 
the early part of my life had been spent in the cares and 
labors of a farm, I felt that farming was the only occu- 
pation that I was prepared to enter. But this I did not 
like. My ambition led me to seek a higher, more ele- 
vated existence. The paths of honor, positions of trust 
and emolument, lay open before me, at a distance, and if 
I could but overleap the intermediate space, — i.e., obtain 
an education to qualify me for entering them, — I saw 
no sufficient reason why I might not aspire to enter the 
lists and become a competitor with the sons of the rich 
and powerful for their rewards and honors. I saw no 
good reason why these benefits should be confined to 
wealth alone. Often did I determine to aspire to them, 
and then 

' The native hue of resolution would be sicklied o'er 
With the pale cast of thought,' 

and the doubt would arise of the possibility of acquiring 
an education with the scanty means then in my power, 
without a single friend to aid me by either giving or loan- 
ing me money. While thus in doubt I sometimes thought 
I perhaps had better give up my outlook into life and re- 
main a farmer. But here another fresh difficulty met me : 
I had no money wherewith to purchase a farm, and I saw 

5o 



IN MEMORIAM. 



nothing before me here but poverty and labor and igno- 
rance." 

Another interesting fragment from a later diary seems full 
of touching allusions to his childhood. " The history of 
my religious life is the history of ingratitude and misspent 
opportunities. Through my whole life, and especially 
through my youth, my views and feelings, indeed my whole 
conduct in respect to religion, were far from what might 
have been expected as the result of the advantages I enjoyed 
in my youth. I had the unspeakable advantage of having 
ardently and actively pious parents. I do not know exactly 
at what period my father and mother united with the 
church, but I believe they were both members for over 
half a century. They were both indefatigable in their efforts 
to instruct their children in religious truth ; they regularly 
devoted Sabbath afternoons and evenings to the subject of 
religion, as well as other seasons and occasions that favored 
the object which lay so near their hearts, especially the 
occasions of family worship at morning and evening ; they 
always strove to impress upon our hearts some interesting 
truth, and improved every occasion for Bible-reading and 
prayer. Indeed, they made every occasion, if possible, sub- 
servient to religious culture. This was particularly evident 
in my mother. I cannot remember the time when her 
religious instruction commenced with me. I cannot re- 

5i 



IN MEMORIAM. 



member the time when I could not read. She early taught 
me to love the Bible. To gain my attention, she would 
first read some interesting chapter, or repeat a portion of it, 
or narrate the story contained in it, and when my attention 
was awakened she would take down the Bible and place it 
on a chair, for I was not large enough to hold it, and there, 
kneeling before it, or perhaps sitting in my little chair, I 
would peruse one of its beautiful stories. Then, for the first 
time, I read the story of Joseph and his brethren, and was 
so deeply interested in it that I was melted to tears and 
could hardly get on with my reading, so overcome was 
I. From the reading of this touching and pathetic narra- 
tive, accompanied by the remarks of my mother, I derived 
impressions of tenderness and susceptibility of feeling for 
the misfortunes of others, which I have not lost to the 
present moment. I feel even now (I have just been reading 
it) many of the same emotions that were present at the first 
perusal, and it brings back the scene as vividly as possible 
to my mind. I remember, also, reading the stories of our 
Saviour's crucifixion, of Ruth, of Daniel, and of Jephthah 
and his daughter, which are about the earliest of my recol- 
lections. 

" My mother early taught me to pray. She used to go 
with me to my bed at night and pray with me and teach 

me to pray. All these things made a deep impression on 

52 



IN MEMORIAM. 



my mind, and I became very thoughtful. I loved to read 
the Bible, I loved to pray ; but, after all, I do not think I 
was really religious. Years afterwards, through God's 
grace, I became so, I trust." 

A simple incident, which took place on his journey back 
to Richmond, illustrated well his sympathetic heart. The 
route was by stage for the greater part of the way back, and 
at the first stopping-place a lady entered the vehicle accom- 
panied by four small children. Soon, as there were but few 
passengers, they all gradually entered into conversation, 
and thus learned the sad story of their new fellow-traveller. 
She was a widow, and was from one of the old aristocratic 
families of Maryland, — had married young and settled in 
Lynchburg, Va., several hundred miles from her friends, 
or rather from where they once lived, for they were all dead 
or scattered by the hand of misfortune. Her husband had 
long been dead. She was indifferently dressed, but her 
dress was arranged in good taste. Her countenance be- 
spoke despair, and in the maintenance of her little flock was 
worn by care and solicitude far beyond her years. She 
bore the marks of extreme poverty, and, with the most 
scanty means, was endeavoring to move her little family to 
her friends. She was lady-like and refined, and her whole 
appearance showed that she had been accustomed to better 
fortune. " My friend, Colonel H., proposed that we should 

53 



IN MEMORIAM. 



contribute something to her aid. I readily assented, as did 
also my two college friends, who were with me. We raised 
several dollars, which she accepted with reluctance, but 
with a heart overflowing with gratitude and eyes filled with 
tears. I shall not soon forget the emotions awakened by 
this trifling incident. It taught me a lesson, for it taught 
me how sweet is that emotion that compassion leaves upon 
the mind when it is exerted to relieve the distress of vir- 
tuous suffering." 

His broad, sympathetic nature was exemplified in this 
simple incident, and in after-life his hand was ever open to 
the calls of the unfortunate. He was so nobly generous 
that he would often deny himself some long-anticipated 
pleasure, some coveted delight, in the shape of a pleasant 
journey, or perhaps a rare volume for his study that he had 
long desired, in order to bestow alms on some distressed 
sufferer. 

After his graduation at Hampden Sidney College he went 
to Richmond, and remained there for a month or so, then 
resumed the classical school which he had formerly taught 
so successfully. In the middle of that winter he gave a 
month's vacation, as was usual there. But he could not 
afford to waste that precious month. Accordingly, he went 
to Union Theological Seminary, and there studied indefati- 
gably the Hebrew language with a private tutor, one of the 

54 



IN MEMORIAM. 



professors. He says " he made but little progress, yet 
enough to go on by himself and read the Hebrew Scrip- 
tures." He acquired most of the grammar and also the 
pronunciation. With this he returned to his school in Vir- 
ginia, and there remained through July. Before the end of 
the year, at the close of his school, he returned to Rich- 
mond, and for nearly two years acted as assistant editor of 
the Southern Religious Telegraph and Literary and Evangel- 
ical Magazine. He wrote many leading articles for both 
papers, and also contributed to other well-known journals 
and magazines. Indeed, his success in journalism was so 
assured that it was the wish of many friends that he should 
make it his permanent choice as a profession. But his 
heart was in his Master's cause. To benefit his fellow-men 
was his great ambition. To preach Christ and Him crucified 
was his ultimate object, and from it he could not be diverted. 
Although an immediate competence was assured to him on 
the one hand, and on the other, black and discouraging, 
loomed up before him trials and privations, the strictest 
economy, if not poverty itself, nevertheless he had long 
trampled down all earthly obstacles, and, unaided, he went 
on his way. Unaided ? No ! Christ's message of salva- 
tion was his trusty sword, a brave hopefulness his shield, 
and again he pressed boldly forward. He entered Princeton 
Theological Seminary, and there remained nearly three 

55 



IN MEMORIAM. 



years. During his second and third years there he fre- 
quently preached in the neighboring parishes, among them 
the parish and church of the sainted Tennent. This church, 
consecrated not only by historic fame, but, even more, as 
having been the scene of the ministry for so many years of 
that holy man, was one of great interest to him. He said 
that every time he ascended the pulpit-steps he felt as if he, 
a young, unfledged theologian, were so unworthy to address 
that august congregation and to stand in the foot-prints of 
their cherished pastor. Judge of his surprise, then, when, 
although they had had many pastors on trial, they selected 
him as their shepherd, and gave him a call to settle. This 
was about the end of his course at the seminary. At 
nearly the same time he received a call from the church in 
Trenton, N. J. Both of these calls were very unexpected, 
and, feeling the great responsibility, he delayed replying to 
them until after his return from New England. Thither he 
was now returning for a visit, after a five years' absence, 
to the home of his boyhood, — the old New Hampshire 
farm. He could not but appreciate the high testimony 
both churches bore to his preaching, and for this he felt 
exceedingly grateful. He thought very strongly, he told 
us afterwards, of settling in one of the churches. I do not, 
however, recall which, but, I think, the old church of Mr. 
Tennent. It was the farthest from his thoughts that he 



56 



IN MEMORIAM. 



should ever reside in New England again, and of Vermont 
he knew nothing whatever. But the hand of God was 
guiding his steps into a new and entirely different sphere of 
action. Travelling was then mostly by stage and steamboat, 
occasionally diversified by canal-boat, and, being detained 
on his journey north, he arrived in Burlington on Satur- 
day. Not wishing to travel on the Sabbath, he arranged 
to remain there until Monday. The Congregational Church 
being without a pastor at the time, some of the deacons, 
learning that a young minister was at the hotel, called upon 
him, and invited him to fill the pulpit the next morning. 
He did so, and they also gave him a unanimous invitation 
to become their pastor. Circumstances unforeseen devel- 
oped themselves, and, after remaining a week or more in the 
place, he resumed his journey to New Hampshire. He ac- 
cepted the call on the 9th of August, and towards the end 
of the month was ordained and installed as pastor. He 
had but just commenced his pastoral duties when he was 
called upon to attend the funeral of a child about eleven 
years of age, the youngest daughter of the Hon. Heman 
Allen. There he first met, or rather saw, my mother. Call- 
ing a few days afterwards to offer consolation to the be- 
reaved family, he became acquainted with her, and his 
sympathizing manner and genial, friendly bearing at once 

interested her. She, as well as all the family, mourned her 

57 



IN MEMORIAM. 



little sister very deeply, for she was a child of rare promise, 
of great piety, and beautiful Christian life. My mother 
often said that she evinced more judgment in her advice 
than many older persons. She missed her thus very griev- 
ously, and my father's deep sympathy won upon her uncon- 
sciously. She was, as an old friend lately remarked, a very 
sweet young girl, very modest and retiring in disposition, 
but, notwithstanding, very engaging in presence and man- 
ner, and withal a great favorite in the young society of the 
place. My mother was very fortunate in her surroundings 
in the way of society. There was, at that time, a large but 
select circle of young ladies and gentlemen, not only pos- 
sessing great social virtues, but also high intellectual attain- 
ments ; indeed, in some cases, quite rare accomplishments. 
They were very fond of social life, and not only did numer- 
ous parties, assemblies, and sleigh-rides bear witness to 
their social spirit, but musical societies and quiet dramatic 
or literary clubs attested their efforts for mental aliment 
during the long winter evenings. These were in the days 
when the Catlins, the Loomises, the Hickoks, the Buels, 
the Demmings, the Pomeroys, the Marshes, the Folletts, 
and the Bradleys were the well-known names. In such 
pleasant companionship my mother's girlhood was passed. 
In it, also, were found many of my father's earliest friend- 
ships. Thus the names were doubly endeared to us. 

53 



IN MEMORIAM. 



My mother, after receiving the best advantages which the 
village afforded, was sent, through the advice of her elder 
brother, afterwards known as Prof. George Allen, to one of 
the best of the New England seminaries, — that of Miss 
Fisk, at Keene, N. H. Here previously several other of 
our most intelligent young ladies had preceded her. She 
studied the usual English branches, together with music 
and painting,' and also Latin and French. She remained 
there two years. During the winter of her second year my 
father was also there, teaching a select school ; but, although 
they never met then, in after-life they found it very pleasant 
to converse of mutual friends. 

About the time of my mother's return home, my Uncle 
George, then tutor in college in Burlington, was married to 
Mary Hancock, the daughter of Rev. Oliver Withington, 
of Boston (formerly a pastor in the Unitarian Church in 
Burlington), grandniece of John Hancock, of Revolution- 
ary fame. My mother accompanied him to the wedding, 
and remained there for some little time afterwards, pursuing 
her study of music. Soon after her return home she 
evinced a lively concern in the subject of religion, and, 
under my Uncle George's tuition, became particularly inter- 
ested in the new Episcopal Society which was just forming. 
Dr. Chapman she soon made a personal friend, and numer- 
ous letters of that time attest her appreciation of his earnest 

59 



IN ME MORI AM. 



religious zeal and endeavors. Bishop Hopkins, too, she 
knew and reverenced, as did every one who knew him. 
She took all preparatory steps for her "confirmation" at the 
first celebration of that rite in the village, but owing to a 
sudden illness was prevented from uniting in the sacred 
service. Subsequently she united with the Congregational 
Church of which my father was the pastor. She always, 
however, loved the beautiful liturgy of the church, and 
whenever in a place where there was no Congregational 
society, always attended the Episcopal Church. 

My father and mother were married on the 2 1st of May, 
1834, and started on their wedding journey amidst the warm 
congratulations of their friends and under a sky all blue 
and unclouded, as their whole after-life proved to them. 

They first went directly to Washington, where my grand- 
father was. Congress being in session, he was unable to 
be present at the wedding. They remained there for more 
than a week, and enjoyed the visit exceedingly. It was just 
at the time that General Lafayette had returned to the 
United States, to receive the warm acknowledgments of a 
grateful country and the hand-clasp of millions of its in- 
habitants, and my mother was one of the fortunate ones. 
Indeed, she was more favored than many, for General Lafay- 
ette being a friend of my grandfather's, she saw him several 

times in a quiet, sociable manner. She became slightly 

60 



IN MEMORIAM. 



acquainted, as did my father, with many of the distinguished 
Senators of the time. 

After their visit in Washington, they continued their 
journey to Richmond, Va., where my father's elder brother, 
Rev. A. Converse, D.D., resided. After a delightful week 
there, and another at Philadelphia and New York, they re- 
turned, after a month's absence, to Burlington. My father 
and mother resided for some time with my grandfather and 
grandmother in their own house, now the Episcopal par- 
sonage. Eventually they settled themselves in a pleasant 
new brick house, which my father purchased, on Winooski 
Avenue. This house, after being handsomely furnished 
throughout by my grandfather, my father and mother made 
the scene of their first independent life, and many happy 
years followed. Both were very earnest in the cause of 
Christ; but my mother, never of very strong constitution, 
could not brave the hardships of life as could my father. 
But she nobly did her best, and that was all that was needed. 
They delighted in the long, pleasant rides which my father 
so often took to the outskirts of the place to some weekly 
afternoon or evening meeting, for there they could not only 
be the means of good to others, but they could have a long 
uninterrupted companionship with each other, which my 
father's busy outside life often precluded at home. I forgot 

to say that my grandfather furnished the barn, as well as 

61 



IN MEMORIAM. 



the house, and a horse and carnage, sleigh, etc., together 
with a cow, made the first move at housekeeping very- 
pleasant. Both my father and mother were very sensitive 
to the influence of nature, and so these long rides, or, 
often, quiet rambles in the woods, on their return from some 
errand of mercy, were very refreshing to them, mentally 
and physically. Our pleasant home-life I well remember : 
the sweet face of my mother in our sunny nursery-window, 
pointing out to us children some beautiful creation of God's 
without, — a leaf, lustrous with the morning dew upon it, 
or a half-opened flower, or perhaps the gilding of the sun- 
light on the garden-wall. And my father taught us, infants 
as we were, daily in a thousand beautiful ways. His 
bright, buoyant disposition was always so cheering, so 
illuminating in the house, that it seems to me now, as I 
recall those long-past days, as if a rainbow spanned our 
life and no outside cloud ever darkened it. 

Yes, there was one tiny cloud ; but we children were un- 
conscious of it. My father's health began to fail, not very 
perceptibly, but he began to suffer with a bronchial affec- 
tion, which, at times, inconvenienced him in the pulpit very 
much, — the result of his exposure in his labors during the 
cold winds of winter. 

He was made the pastor of the church on the 9th of 

August, and his installation took place soon afterwards. His 

62 



IN MEMORIAM. 



pastorate was quite a long one, extending over some thir- 
teen years. He labored unceasingly during these years for 
the welfare of the church, and his labors were crowned with 
success. There were many conversions during the time, the 
society grew in strength and ability, and many souls were 
added to the fold of Christ. The Sabbath-school especially 
was his delight, and in it he succeeded remarkably. He al- 
ways loved the young people of the church, and the children 
and youth returned his affection a hundredfold. One of his 
former Sabbath-school children, now a middle-aged man, 
assured us, but a short time since, that " Mr. Converse was 
the only minister that could get him to go to Sabbath- 
school" when he was a boy ; " but he did, and made him love 
both church and Sabbath-school." Many others have added 
a similar testimony. The weekly prayer-meetings, also, 
were an occasion of deep interest to him, and he made 
them, by his happy selections of Scriptural reading and his 
persuasive eloquence, a source of great religious refresh- 
ment to the church. 

He was thoroughly impassioned in prayer, and he al- 
ways seemed to live so near God in everything that his 
prayers seemed but the natural outpouring of his soul. 
One of his old parishioners said since he left us, that " He 
was so earnest, so fervent in his prayers, that it seemed 
as if they must be granted." Prayer with him was not 

63 



IN MEMORIAM. 



only the earnest petition to a heavenly Father, but also to 
a dearly-loved, longed-for friend ! His selections from the 
Scriptures for Sabbath reading were always well chosen. 
Often some beautiful Psalm illumined his Sabbath discourse 
and left its glory long lingering in the mind. He was very 
fond of the Psalms, and, even when a child, I used to notice, 
at family prayers, his admirable selections. Indeed, now 
they are associated so closely with my dear father that I 
never read them or hear them read without its bringing 
back all too forcibly before me the beautiful old head, with 
its snowy hair and soft gray eye. Especially associated 
with his memory are those beautiful, hopeful ones, the 
91st, 1 2 1st, 1 ooth, and 139th, and many, many others. The 
verse, " For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to 
keep thee in all thy ways," seemed so appropriate to him, 
for in his many perilous journeys in his later years, both 
by land and by sea, he was guarded and guided, and at last 
brought safely back to us once more ! 

He had memorized a great portion of the Bible, and I 
have frequently heard him repeat a whole chapter to him- 
self when reflecting on the works of God. 

He often preached — perhaps I should say, generally 
preached — three times a day; always twice in the pulpit of 
his own church and frequently at one of the school-houses 
in the suburbs of the village in the evening. During the 



64 



IN MEMORIAM. 



week he was often occupied every evening with different 
meetings or benevolent societies. He not only preached in 
the regular evening meetings, but he established weekly 
meetings out at Dorset Street, and then again at Winooski. 
The present church at Winooski is the outgrowth of those 
meetings. He used, playfully, to call it his " missionary 
field." He also, during his pastorate, laid the foundation 
for the church at West Milton, and years afterwards regu- 
larly supplied the pulpit there, although engaged in other 
duties during the week. He worked unceasingly, untiringly, 
thus evidencing his deep sense of responsibility in his 
profession. 

Surely few ministers have the strength to endure such a 
life ! My mother often said that there would be weeks 
at a time when, except at meals, she scarcely saw him. 
He was devoted to his clerical studies and duties in the 
daytime, and the evenings were given up to the advance- 
ment of religion. So great was his energy and enthusiasm, 
and so thoroughly did he realize his solemn calling, that 
he felt he could not do enough in his short life for his 
Master. 

His powers of observation were very acute, and his 
memory equally so. He has been heard to say that he 
knew and could call by name every child in the congrega- 
tion, and it was a large one. Of course the adult mem- 

65 



IN MEMORIAM. 



bers were all well known to him, and at the many social 
gatherings he was like a cherished brother and friend, as 
well as the shepherd of the flock. 

I shall never forget a beautiful picture that comes before 
my eye, painted in the glowing colors of childhood, of one, 
the last, I think, of the parish gatherings that annually met 
at our house. I can see, now, my father, then quite a young 
man, surrounded by a bevy of bright young girls, then just 
blossoming into womanhood, yet lingering by the stream 
" where womanhood and childhood meet." They all bear 
well-known names to us. One is now the wife of an able 
political leader and lawyer in New York. Two others, in- 
telligent, cultivated women, have their homes far away from 
their old home, while the fourth, still beautiful and accom- 
plished, remains to adorn her native city. I can see their 
bright, happy faces as, just at the evening's close, they 
gather around their loved pastor and, clasping hands, play- 
fully prevent his egress from the band. He willingly lin- 
gers among the fair young maidens, and soon they all unite 
in singing the evening hymn. Beyond the circle are many 
mature faces, some whose lines of care and deep-set furrows 
tell that a long life is nearing its close, others yet in the 
sturdy ranks of middle age, and in the full vigor of life. 
Alas ! of all that goodly number how few remain ! Only 

the fresh, young maidens, the youngest of them all, are 

66 



IN MEMORIAM. 



here, and even they are beginning to see the pathway of 
life bend farther down the declining slope of years. 

He delighted especially in watching the growth of vege- 
table nature. The garden he never weaned of, and often, after 
a brain-worked day in his study, or an assiduous one in his 
parish duties, he would seek the garden and find abundant 
refreshment among his plants and flowers. Some brother 
clergyman asked him " if he had his blue Mondays, too ?" 
He said, " I was afflicted in that way formerly, and am now 
occasionally in winter; but in good weather I forget the 
depression in my garden !" It had for him wonderful recu- 
peratory powers ! Perhaps it was the last lingering reflec- 
tion of his old home-life among the New Hampshire hills. 

The seasons, with their changes, always occasioned deep 
interest, especially spring and autumn, — one, symbolizing 
the birth, the other, the death of Nature. The frost-painted 
forests, the beeches, oaks, and maples, golden-gray, with a 
dash of scarlet, the bronze-brown of the hardening earth, 
and the brooks bannered with the long arms of the sumach 
or the coral-clustered boughs of the mountain-ash, — these 
delighted him with their gleaming, gorgeous illumination. 
They shone through his study-window with their sheen 
of gorgeous scarlet and purple and gold, and made it more 
bewildering and lustrous than the richest of stained-glass. 
But spring, with its soft, fluttering drapery of tenderest 

67 



IN MEMORIAM. 



green, its tiny blossoms bursting up from their winter's 
warm covering, its quick-moving sap, its green flame of 
grass and foliage everywhere, seemed to lift him, as it were, 
beyond the earth and lose his thoughts in heaven. It al- 
ways reminded him so emphatically of the resurrection, of 
the sundering of earth's fetters for a glorious immortality. 

Shall I ever forget the old garden of our first home here 
and the surroundings of trees and fruit? One picture always 
comes back of it. It was a bright, warm day, and my father 
sat in a rustic-seat beneath the wide-spreading boughs of the 
old apple-tree in the yard. I was a mere child then, hardly 
out of my babyhood, but it impressed me even then. He 
was perusing his Sunday sermon, and had laid it open across 
his knees, while thoughts of the world above him, which 
seemed so near in the bending arch of blue, occupied his 
mind. A pink-and-white shower of apple-blossoms had 
fallen upon his head and made a kind of glory around his 
upturned face. Through the wide-open gate came sug- 
gestive glimpses of a sweet old garden beyond. Lilacs 
and hollyhocks bordered its path, and shrubbery and wild 
vines twisted and tangled themselves in inextricable con- 
fusion. The path wound in and out among the foliage 
and at last lost itself down the hill in a ruinous grape- 
arbor, half buried beneath a mass of dewy roses. The 

68 



IN MEMORTAM. 



garden was a wilderness of bloom, and pools of color glis- 
tened and glowed in the dark green leaves beyond. Still 
later in the season the mourning-bride added its depth 
of color, and the tiger-lily lit its lantern of yellow gold, 
while coreopsis and marigolds brought their tiny fire-cups 
to fill with sunlight. All the dear old-fashioned flowers 
luxuriated in that garden of my childhood. The fruit, too, 
was very fine, and even the lusciousness of the remembrance 
is thrilling ! Great bell-pears hung in heavy clusters ; plums, 
red, purple, and white, graced the boughs and varied 
the color ; raspberries, yellow and red, sparkled on the 
vines ; and apples, red-cheeked, golden, and russet, made 
heavy the boughs and lightened the heart ! My father had 
given much of his leisure-time to this his first garden, and 
fine cultivation and frequent engraftings had resulted in 
very choice fruit. I can see him now, as he took me upon 
his shoulder and wandered with me among the trees, that 
I might cull for myself the ripe o'erhanging treasures, or 
gaze at the birds, — robins and sparrows, that lived so 
happily in the bird-house near by. So, amidst bird-songs 
and flower-incense, he softened the asperities of life and 
kept his genial, happy disposition. 

After my father had been settled several years in Burling- 
ton, there came to him a call to become the pastor of a 

69 



IN MEMORIAM. 



church in Providence, R. L, — the Richmond Street Church, 
I think it is called. This call, although most truly appre- 
ciated, was, for a time, a source of much anxiety to him. 
His residence here was very pleasant, and he loved his 
people exceedingly ; but there were some reasons which 
made him think it might be his duty to change. In the 
first place, my mother was delicate; her health, never very 
strong, was weakened by the cold winters here, and she 
had been advised to try a warmer climate. My father 
himself had acquired a bronchial affection, which seemed 
to be constantly on the increase, — the result, evidently, of 
exposure to the rigors of Northern winters, after a kind of 
acclimation at the South. 

Then, a minister is a man, and has the necessities of a 
man, and his salary here of only seven hundred dollars, with 
no parsonage or extras included, necessitated a very strict 
system of economy. This economy was a hard thing to 
keep up, as my father was exceedingly hospitable by nature, 
and his position as minister in those days entailed upon him 
an open house to other clergymen. This, however, was a 
pleasure to him as well as a duty. The yearly donation 
gathering was supposed to add considerably to the length 
of his purse, but in reality it often added only good inten- 
tions. This pastorate, then, in Providence, with a salary of 

nearly double his present one, and with a comfortable par- 

70 



IN ME MORI AM. 



sonage included, seemed a real God-send, in the reverent 
sense of the word. His father-in-law, Hon. Heman Allen, 
always felt that my father was injudicious in hesitating for a 
moment, and that he should at last resign it was, in his 
opinion, an act of madness. His own health was so much 
benefited by his Washington residence that he thought it 
would greatly aid my mother to live there, and was endeav- 
oring to secure a position for my father there when he 
received the call from Providence. 

Consequently that he should hesitate for an instant was 
astonishing. Hesitate he did, however, although most 
strenuously advised both by physicians and friends. He felt 
a troubled doubt, a great anxiety, as to what was best — what 
was right — for him to do. His family wants might be better 
supplied, his sphere of action would be larger, and he might 
accomplish more good there ; and yet he felt that, through 
the help of the Lord, he had been a source of great good 
in Burlington, and might be of much greater influence in 
the days to come. Many souls had been added to the 
church, many sin-weary ones had found rest and peace in 
the way of life, through his teaching, and ought he to desert 
them now, when they were, in a certain way, dependent 
upon him as their pastor ? 

While in this anxious, wavering mood, he was suddenly 

awakened one morning by the constant ringing of bells and 

7i 



IN MEMORIAM. 



the screams of " fire !" beneath his window. He threw 
open the shutters, and what a spectacle met his eyes ! The 
whole vault of heaven seemed to bend a flaming arch above 
him, while clouds of smoke and fragments of wood filled 
the air. The old White Church was wrapped in flames, 
and all endeavors to extinguish the fire were of no avail, so 
thoroughly had it been ignited under the shield of darkness. 
The edifice burned to the ground, and hardly anything of 
its contents was saved, except the organ key-board, which, 
in dumb despair, long graced the heterogeneous contents 
of our garret. The people felt hopeless and gloomy enough. 
My father preached a beautiful sermon that morning, im- 
promptu, on the subject, and, many said, made it most im- 
pressive by his thankfulness for past mercies. At the end 
of the service an old, gray-headed deacon went up to him 
and said, " Mr. Converse, you will not desert us now in our 
distress ? Our church is gone, and we cannot lose our min- 
ister also ;" and he wrung my father's hand. " No," he re- 
plied. " It seems as if it were the hand of God bidding me 
stay, and I will obey Him, and will not leave you. I have 
prayed for guidance, and He has sent it me." The next day 
he sent his letter of declination to the Richmond Street 
Church in Providence. 

An important element of success in my father's ministerial 

career was his ability as an extemporaneous speaker. When 

72 



IN MEMORIAM. 



a student at Princeton he had trained himself in this method. 
In his missionary labors in adjoining villages he found ex- 
temporaneous speaking especially convenient. In preaching 
generally he used only the outlines of the sermon, and few 
could surpass him either in fertility of thought or fluency 
of expression. The cultivation of this faculty, however, did 
not lead him to neglect the more careful preparation with 
the pen. Besides his sermons, he contributed various 
articles in behalf of education and reform to reviews and 
religious papers. 

Another thing which contributed to his efficiency in the 
pulpit, and especially in social prayer-meetings, was his 
musical ability. An old parishioner of his assured me that 
when he first came here he had a remarkably rich, sweet 
voice, and a very fine, accurate ear. She said " he often led 
the singing when circumstances prevented the presence of 
the chorister, and it was very charming to the congrega- 
tion to notice the fervor with which he united with them 
in this service." " The hymns, too, were always so beau- 
tiful and appropriate, and when it occasionally happened 
that the tune as well as the hymn was left to his selection, 
he always selected something to deepen the impression of 
the sermon." 

His decision having been reached to decline the call to 
Providence, he labored assiduously and conscientiously in 

73 



IN MEMORIAM. 



his pastorate here. At last, however, the bronchial diffi- 
culty which had troubled him for years became much worse, 
and he found it difficult to continue his work. Preaching 
two and three times on the Sabbath, besides his constant 
almost daily week-day services, wore sadly upon him, and, 
after some thirteen years of labor, he resigned his pas- 
torate. His resignation being accepted, again he made 
arrangements to leave Burlington and go farther South, 
and again he was arrested in his movements. 

The hand of Providence still held him here. Some of 
the gentlemen of Burlington who were interested in the 
cause of education came to him and enlisted his sympa- 
thies for the welfare of the Burlington Female Seminary, 
then under a cloud, and suffering, from various causes, a de- 
preciation of numbers and strength. It needed a firm hand 
and an enthusiastic heart to restore it to its former vigor, 
and these, it was represented to my father, he possessed. 
He accepted the trust, and again gave up his project of a 
more Southern home, to become the principal of the Bur- 
lington Female Seminary. This, then, became the second 
scene of his life-work. The change brought with it many 
accompanying advantages, but it necessitated also some 
sorrows. Our dear home, which my father had purchased 
the first year of his marriage, and to which he brought 

his fresh young bride, must be sold, and all our pleasant 

74 



IN MEMORIAM. 



surroundings, endeared by associations, must be sacri- 
ficed. Of course had we left the town the result would 
have been the same ; but the circumstances would have 
been different, as in new scenes and with new friends 
old ties would be, in a measure, obliterated ; but to stay- 
here and change our quiet, lovely home for the huge, hotel- 
like seminary, with nothing alluring, at first, at least to 
us, was saddening. However, our dear home, our child- 
hood's home, was sold, and soon many changes made it 
seem less like the old home of yore and deadened the 
heart-beats of sadness. The garden, with its fruit-trees, 
which had grown up with his children and were of the 
same age, — for my father would often plant certain trees 
with the infancy of each child, — seemed a lingering link 
with our past lives ; and we were kindly offered free per- 
mission, by its new owners, to pay it a visit often, and 
this invitation for several years we gladly accepted, — I 
suppose I ought to add, especially in autumn. 

The new field of labor to which my father was called 
earnestly engaged his attention, and soon he was as enthu- 
siastic in his new vocation as if this was the one occu- 
pation of his life. " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, 
do it with all thy might," was the rule of action with 
him. The seminary, however, was necessarily a work of 
great interest to him, because he was in fact the founder 

75 



IN MEMORIAM. 



of it himself. In the first year of his residence in Burling- 
ton he was much surprised, I might almost say shocked, 
to learn that, with a village full of young girls fast ripen- 
ing into womanhood, there was no school with any better 
advantages than those afforded by a simple select school. 
The college, too, was very small in numbers, and few, if 
any, Burlington students increased the list. While in 
the States around him there were very fair facilities for the 
education of youth, there were none here. Those who 
could afford to, sent their daughters away ; those who could 
not, let their daughters go with the advantages of the village. 
Such a state of things seemed extremely deplorable to him, 
and after a residence of some two years here he felt that he 
was known sufficiently well for his efforts to be understood 
and appreciated. Accordingly, one cold, snowy February 
night he called a meeting of the prominent citizens of Bur- 
lington at the principal hall of the place, without giving the 
invited any clue whatever to the object of the meeting. They 
all attended, moved by curiosity and interest. My father 
immediately broached the subject, and in eloquent language 
and in his own enthusiastic way urged the necessity of a 
school endowed with more liberal advantages for the youth 
of Burlington ; in a word, he desired a female seminary, with 
all the privileges that the name implies ; and so magnetic 

was his influence, and so effectual his persuasion, that the 

76 



IN MEMORIAM. 



project met with favor at once, and there and then they 
gave in their aid, in the shape of substantial subscriptions. 
Thus was launched the Burlington Female Seminary, for 
many years the only one in the State. Miss Mary C. Greene, 
afterwards Mrs. Mayhew, of Baltimore, was made the first 
principal, and proved an earnest and efficient teacher. She 
was assisted by teachers in music, drawing and painting, 
and modern languages. Whether the classics were taught 
or not I have never heard. Many young ladies who have 
since become useful, noble women received their higher 
education under Miss Greene. The building which is now 
called " the Griswold place" was long the one used for the 
seminary. Afterwards the school was moved down to the 
southeast corner of Church and Adams Streets. One of 
the large and spacious buildings erected by Bishop John 
Henry Hopkins was bought of him for the institution, and 
here the work of education was conducted for several years. 
Then, from several remote causes and some nearer at hand, 
— through various teachers, — the seminary began to dimin- 
ish in numbers, and finally became reduced to a very few 
pupils. At this juncture my father became the principal, 
and took the helm into his own hands. It was a kind of 
foster-child of his own, and he could not let it die. He 
bought the large south building, and with the rapid increase 

in numbers afterwards built an additional house on Adams 

77 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Street. Finding this also inadequate, he then bought a 
second house on Church Street, — the former residence of 
Bishop Hopkins, — and gave up his annex on Adams 
Street, Here, for many years, he labored indefatigably, the 
school ripening into perfect maturity under his able admin- 
istration. He commenced with ten pupils; before the term 
was half out he had nearly doubled the number. Before 
three years had passed he had nearly one hundred pupils, 
and over fifty in the music-class alone. As perhaps two- 
thirds were boarders, — for the fame of the school was at its 
height, and there were pupils from nearly every State in the 
Union ; also from Montreal, Quebec, and other Canadian 
cities, — his two buildings were even then inadequate for the 
size of the school, and many were compelled to board in 
neighboring houses. A wonderful zeal and enthusiasm 
seemed awakened both in the pupils and the parents, and 
his long class-list seemed constantly to increase. Enthu- 
siasm took the place of indifference. From the first, or, 
at least, from the middle of his first term, an interest 
seemed to be developing itself more and more among the 
pupils. He ever strove to stimulate their zeal to higher 
effort, and introduced literary societies and critic clubs to 
conduce still further to their intellectual growth. He of- 
fered prizes of rare books or pictures to those who would 

compete for them, and endeavored in various ways to pro- 

78 



IN MEMORIAM. 



mote a thoroughness in every department. He believed 
especially in the study of classical literature, and earnestly 
advised pupils to make the classics, especially Latin, the 
stepping-stone to higher culture. He believed that that 
language should always be the groundwork of a thorough 
education, and as far as possible enforced its study, thereby 
often earning for himself the gratitude of his pupils in after- 
years. He thought, however, it was unwise to expect 
every mind to be developed in the same way : something 
should be yielded to natural inclinations and tendencies. 
He considered it equally unjust that each one should be 
confined to the same quantity and kind of study. When 
a right tendency appeared, he deemed it best to give it free 
scope for development and allow it to unfold itself, and not 
cramp it at the outset by a restricted system. There should 
not be unlimited choice, of course. He would have a 
regular systematic course for general guidance, but pecu- 
liar tendencies might be extended in the direction desired. 
Often too great importance was attached to text-books, and 
too little to oral teaching. A constant, familiar intercourse 
between teacher and pupil awakened responsive sympathies. 
He strove to promote in his pupils an intimate commun- 
ion with nature. For he enjoyed the beautiful in every 
form himself, and especially in the works of God. As he 
gazed at evening at the blue sky above him, with the dis- 

79 



IN MEMORIAM. 



tant mountains but a shade deeper in tint, or watched the 
western sky, painted in the tremulous gold and crimson of 
our glorious sunsets, I have heard him softly murmur to 
himself, " The heavens declare the glory of God. The 
firmament showeth His handiwork." He recognized his 
Father's hand in everything. No beauty could be perfect 
to him without it. He could, at sight, name nearly all 
the trees of the forests and the flowers of the field, and 
every roadside blossom was a delight to him. He " rev- 
elled in the pomp of grove and garniture of field," and 
daily communed with the spirit of them all. The pic- 
turesqueness of his Vermont home amply fed his aesthetic 
taste, and he sought to make his pupils appreciate it 
thoroughly. In a thousand ways he taught them the 
bounteous wealth of the world of nature around them. 

In the numerous scientific branches he would endeavor 
to develop an interest by giving, beside the regular class- 
lectures, additional ones, carefully prepared, and he also 
procured, at considerable extra expense, public lecturers to 
deliver their addresses in the school-room before the classes 
in art, philosophy, and music. To say he was admired and 
loved by his pupils is faint praise. His mildness and equa- 
nimity during class-hours, even in the face of lawlessness 
or inexcusable ignorance, and his devotion to his duties, 

won for him the love and respect of every pupil. No one 

80 



IN MEMORIAM. 



ever wilfully disobeyed him. The generosity, purity, hon- 
esty of his character were a shield against all attacks open 
or covert. To the interests of the school he donated all 
his knowledge and ability, raising it to a high standard 
of excellence and a most honorable reputation. He en- 
dowed it with a valuable library, and procured for it the 
germ of a fair chemical laboratory. He also added gym- 
nastic apparatus and encouraged all suitable exercise. 

Of his influence, both as teacher and guardian, enough 
cannot be said, for with his own enthusiasm for knowledge, 
which he engrafted on the mind of the scholar, he endeav- 
ored to instil a deep love of everything pure and true and 
noble in life. He promoted by every means the formation 
of religious societies and weekly gatherings for prayer 
among the pupils, and in many instances found them a 
power for a good hope and growth in Christ. His constant 
aim was to inculcate moral as well as intellectual discipline. 
He himself enjoyed rare powers of concentration of thought. 
He used to say " he could write a sermon with nine pianos 
thrumming around him, with all their developments of 
different stages of scales and exercises ;" and this concen- 
tration of thought he endeavored to impress on and cultivate 
in his pupils. He earnestly advocated the most liberal 
education of women, believing that they should enjoy the 
same opportunities as men. He taught them in the for- 



IN MEMORIAM. 



mation of their minds to be self-reliant and courageous, 
and led them to think that nothing was unattainable in the 
field of intellect. " What woman has done, woman can 
do," was his favorite maxim ; and with that he cheered on 
the desponding to fresh endeavor. His intercourse with his 
pupils was so kind and tender that it was more like that 
of a father among his children than as a teacher among 
pupils, and such faith had they in him, such love and rever- 
ence for him, that seldom, if ever, was reproof needed. As 
one of his old pupils — one of the many who have written 
us since his death — wrote, " We all loved him so ; his very 
reproof was so mild and beneficent that it rested on our 
heads like a blessing." Another pupil said, " We would 
rather have his reproof than commendation from another 
teacher, so gentle and kind was he always with us." He 
lives, even now, in the unfading affection of his old pupils. 
He was the principal of the seminary for some twenty- 
five years, and during that time he educated nearly three 
thousand young ladies. When the school became flourish- 
ing, as it soon did after he took the helm, he determined to 
advance the cause of education by educating without charge 
a certain number of pupils every year. In most cases he did 
this in the cause of charity. In some rare instances he was 
repaid in after-years. Thus many poor girls came to him and 

received a thorough English education, which enabled them 

82 



IN MEMORIAM. 



to earn a subsistence by teaching, which was much. more con- 
ducive to intellectual advancement than sewing, for many 
were seamstresses and sewing-girls originally. It also af- 
forded them a broader field of usefulness, and many of them 
became noble, cultivated women before his death. Once — 
years afterwards — when I was teaching in Virginia, I met a 
beautiful, accomplished woman. I did not recognize her at 
first. She was the wife of a lawyer and distinguished pro- 
fessor in a Southern college. Her husband was a man of 
wealth and influence, and they both held a high position in 
society. Her two sons — her only children — were just pre- 
paring to depart to Heidelberg to complete their education. 
I asked her name, and she gave me her maiden name, and 
exclaimed, " I wished to see you, to tell you that I am so 
happy and blest, and that / ozve it all to your noble father /'' 
She came to see me privately the next day, and in the 
course of conversation remarked, " Whatever I am, I bless 
your father for it. He took me, a poor sewing-girl, — yes, 
and I had lived out, too, as servant-maid, — and gave me the 
education I had yearned for; and then he sent me South to 
teach. I taught two years, and then married the dear hus- 
band you met last evening, and I have been so prosperous 
and happy. Your father took me from the dust of the 
roadside, as it were, and gave me everything that conduces 
to happiness in life, by giving me an education." I will state 

83 



IN MEMORIAM. 



here that she promptly returned the expense incurred by 
my father, previous to her marriage. 

The affection retained for him by his numerous pupils 
was shown in after- years, when, on his Colonization work, 
after preaching in some distant city in Maine, New York, or 
Massachusetts, he would find the pulpit-stairs blocked by 
some blooming young matron, who would ask him " if he 
did not remember so-and-so, of such a class," and would 
summarily take him to her home. 

Within a few days one of his former pupils — for many 
years a resident of Europe — has written to add her loving 
testimony to the tenderness and sympathy of her old 
teacher. She says, " Rarely was a teacher loved and ven- 
erated as was your father, and the news of his death, which 
I have but just learned, comes to me like the overwhelming 
shock of a dire calamity." She related a pleasant little 
episode in her European life, which, as it also attests to 
his appreciation by his pupils, I will relate. At one of the 
last receptions given by Napoleon III. she met an ele- 
gant young lady, the wife of the American minister. She 
was introduced, and soon after the introduction, the lady 
learning that she was originally from Vermont, said, " I too 
am a Vermonter." Soon it came out that both were former 
pupils of my father's, only in succeeding years, and the 

minister's wife, Madame , soon forgot everything but 

84 



IN ME MORI AM. 



her old school-days, and in her rhapsody exclaimed, " I 
shall never forget our dear teacher, and I would give more 
to see him here in my lovely vineclad home on the Seine 
than any one else in the world." 

During the period of his principalship of the Burlington 
Seminary he was for several years the superintendent of 
public schools in the city, and as these, even then, were 
numerous, it added greatly to his responsibilities. He filled 
the office ably, and his efforts in the cause of educational 
reform will not soon be forgotten. He advocated, strenu- 
ously, a higher grade in scholarship in the public schools, 
and also insisted upon newer and more convenient buildings 
for their use. 

The married life of my father and mother was a very 
happy one; the union lasted more than thirty-eight years. 
My memory recalls many fragmentary but beautiful 
vignettes of the early married life of my parents, — one re- 
mains stamped indelibly upon my mind. At night, after 
evening prayers, my mother would seat herself at the piano, 
and my father would accompany her in some beautiful 
sacred song, or perhaps they would unite in the strains 
of the "Pilgrim Fathers," that grand rich harmony, or join 
in some dear, old-fashioned duet, or perchance the melody 
of "Highland Mary," or "Sweet Afton," would fall in 
snatches on my ear as I lay half curled up in " the shell of 

35 



IN MEMORIAM. 



sleep" in the cozy sofa-corner. Occasionally my father 
would accompany my mother on his flute, which I learned 
afterwards (at least so he informed me) " that he did not 
play very well," but in my untutored ignorance its notes 
seemed at the time like " the music of the spheres." 

My mother was always a real helpmeet to my father in 
helpful counsel and in loving sympathy. Her health was 
not very strong, and she could not go out into the world and 
take an active part ; but, as far as lay in her power, she aided 
in every good work. She was lovely in her gentle piety; 
tender and sympathetic in her affections. Long an invalid, 
she sought in the home circle to perform her life-work by 
brightening and sanctifying it to her family. Although 
diffident and somewhat timid in social intercourse, she was 
loved and cherished by all to a remarkable degree. Her 
illness at last resulted in extreme debility, and from it she 
could not rally. She lingered a few weeks after her last 
prostration, and then left us sorrowing in our earthly home, 
when she sought a heavenly, — the 14th day of April, 1873. 

We can never recall her loving, trusting, sympathetic 

nature without tears of bitter sorrow that she should have 

been taken from us so soon and our hearts made desolate ! 

The remembrance of that beautiful life, which God has 

transplanted to a happier sphere, will be a lasting power to 

encourage, to soothe, and to sustain. So lovely, so genial, 

86 



IN MEMORIAM. 



and so sympathetic was her nature that to know her was 
to love her. Her friends always spoke of her with the 
greatest affection, and the hearts of both young and old 
went out to her in loving admiration and in perfect trustful- 
ness. The grace of humility we never understood so com- 
pletely before ; the claims of others were always thought- 
fully recognized, and their wants and necessities carefully 
considered. Her life was a perpetual blessing. Home was 
a Paradise when she filled it with her presence, and in the 
quiet of her every-day life, in her loving ministration to our 
wants, her patience and care for us and her sympathy for 
our trials, she daily taught us what a saint a loving mother 
may become. 

She was devoted to books, and a fine elocutionist. Often 
has she held us spell-bound by her beautiful rendering of 
some noble poem or fine passage, or enchained our interest 
by her marvellous powers of description in depicting the 
ways and customs of other days. With her to read to us we 
cared for no other company, but were content to linger by 
her side and listen to her voice. But death comes without 
warning, and in the early light of Easter morn she passed 
from our earthly sight. 

In 1832 my father became a member of the Vermont 

Colonization Society, and soon afterwards its secretary, 

an office which he filled for more than forty-three years 

87 



IN MEMORIAM. 



ably and successfully. These years, of course, covered the 
period both of his pastorate of the First Congregational 
Church and of the whole of his seminary principalship. 
Therefore his duties were onerous. Besides these re- 
sponsible offices, there were numberless occasions when 
the claims of friendship or the entreaties of the oppressed 
involved him in multitudinous labors. Indeed, his duties 
seemed ever on the increase, and he was always busy. 
When he could gain time in no other way, he withdrew 
it from his hours of rest. But, no matter how onerous his 
duties, he never neglected the cause of the Colonization 
Society, but worked unwearyingly for its success. 

He believed in the emigration, — the colonization of the 
colored people. He believed this to be the true solution of 
the problem. He believed this to be the answer to the much 
agitated question of what should be the ultimate home of the 
colored race. He believed, however, that they should not 
again be restored to ignorance and vice : therefore he en- 
couraged, by every method in his power, the bestowal of 
liberal advantages upon them. In his sermons for the cause 
he was moved to a kind of magnetic influence, and those 
who had never appreciated the Colonization movement be- 
fore opened their hearts and their purses to the cause. I 
have heard a gentleman assure him, after one of his last 

presentations of the subject, that " he never before had heard 

88 



IN MEMORIAM. 



the efforts of the society presented in a way that influenced 
him, but that my father, for the first time, opened to him 
intelligibly the labors and results of the enterprise." His 
own enthusiasm for the work strongly impressed others. 
Through his ever-increasing interest in the growing state 
of Liberia he made himself thoroughly acquainted with 
all its belongings. He corresponded with many of its citi- 
zens. Its first governor, Governor Pinney, was his life-long 
friend. President Roberts he knew well, and also Mr. 
Ashmun, one of the pioneers of the cause, and one who 
accomplished probably more than any other in effecting 
the settlement on the African coast. One of the professors 
in the College of Liberia, formerly a resident of Vermont, — 
a graduate of Middlebury College, — when on a visit to 
this country a few years since, assured my father, that 
" he knew his sermons had induced many in this locality 
to emigrate, and that they were all thriving, prosperous 
families there." He said " that it was an address of my 
father's that first led him to think of the subject." 

His zeal in the w6rk never abated. From the morning 
of life, when with health-flushed cheek and upright form 
he began his labors, through the maturity of vigorous 
manhood, down to the verging slope of years, he labored 
on, unfolding to his fellow-travellers this cause of right 

and justice. And when at last the time came when he 

89 



IN MEMORIAM. 



could not work, when advancing age held him bound, it 
seemed as if he could not give up. It was so pathetic to 
see the dear one, so aged and worn, his hair silvered with 
the frosts of age, his step infirm and feeble, still striving 
not to give up, but to go on with the Master's work ! He 
would still bear on his shoulder his burden of toil and 
care, — still a little longer carry his message of love and 
mercy to his oppressed and down-trodden brethren. 

I think it was the heaviest cross he had, the thought that 
advancing age would paralyze all effort, and that he would be 
forced to give up the cause he had long and nobly sustained. 
Although his physical infirmities for some two years before 
his death prevented his pursuing his labors, yet so long 
had he identified himself with the cause that every few 
days the idea would return to him that he was away on 
one of his usual tours. Sometimes he thought he was in 
Augusta or Portland, Me., — sometimes in Manchester or 
Portsmouth, N. H., — and then again he was but a short dis- 
tance from home in his own State. If we would propose 
some ride or visit for the afternoon, he would sometimes 
reply, " I cannot go, for I must go home by the afternoon 
train. I have been from home a long time." We, of course, 
often thought of the higher home from which he had been 
so long absent, and to which, in his beautiful childlike 

purity and trust, he ever seemed so near. When we would 

90 



IN MEMORIAM. 



remind him that he was at home, he would directly remem- 
ber, and reply, " Oh, yes, I forgot. I thought I was away 
at my Colonization work." He would often tell us that 
w T hen he was in Maine or New Hampshire he accomplished 
such and such a duty for the cause : " he must go back and 
finish his work." This work — the redemption of the Afri- 
can race — had been his life-occupation for half a century. 
Was it strange, then, that the tired mind recurred ever and 
again to it ? 

He lived to see the state of Liberia a prosperous, flour- 
ishing colony ; to see the work of emigration carried on 
by thousands instead of hundreds ; to see, in place of a few 
half-built cabins, handsome houses, churches, schools, and 
a fast-growing college. And as the last beams of sunlight 
gilded his declining days on earth, the consciousness of 
the resultant harvest, the knowledge of his own well-spent 
life, added another sunbeam to the radiance of the past. 
During the last of his Colonization journeys, which were in 
the middle of January, we always waited in fear and trembling 
for his return, so delicate his health, so feeble and tottering 
his step, that it seemed as if a miracle alone could bring him 
back to us alive. But the angel of the Lord watched ever 
over him, for " He gave his angels charge to keep him and 
guide him in all his ways." And he would come back 
bright' and beaming with the success of his accomplished 

9 1 



IN MEMORIAM. 



work. But we saw, although mentally he was refreshed, 
physically he was tired and worn. I think he grieved at 
first very deeply when obliged to give up the work ; but he 
bowed to the will of his heavenly Father, and with that 
childlike trust that ever characterized him laid his hand in 
that of Jesus, and calmly awaited life's end. 

He was the pastor of the church in Colchester for five 
years, from 1850 to 1855, and from 1855 to 1861 he was 
the stated supply at Winooski. For several years — I think, 
four — he was the regular pastor at West Milton. He also, 
as far as possible, attended all the funerals and solemnized 
the marriage rites of all the attendants of those churches. 

Thus he was never idle ; he felt that his time belonged 
to his Master, and he gave it to Him. He performed 
his work with great ability, learning, and fidelity, and 
from his position of usefulness he could not be drawn 
away by any personal gain. He was evangelical and ele- 
vated in his thoughts, and pure, simple, and direct in his 
style of preaching. He charmed while instructing, and 
bound his people to him by cords of reverential love. He 
was orthodox in his creed, and Congregational in his ec- 
clesiastical polity. Ever a brave, valiant defender of the 
faith, he was, as preacher, impressive and instructive, as 
pastor, tender and sympathizing. The grief-stricken heart 

always found help and consolation in his loving counsel. 

92 



IN MEMORIAM. 



It has been said " that his prayers, unclouded by earthly 
taint, seemed to bear them away for the time from all 
sorrow, and lose them in the resting of divine love." His 
sermons were distinguished by the sweetness, fulness, 
and pathos with which he set forth the gospel claims. 
His cordial, gentle ways, his dignity and weight of char- 
acter, his quiet humor, his modest impressive bearing, won 
their way to all hearts, and gave him great influence among 
his different churches. His fervent piety led many to the 
sacred fold, and his prayerful, pure example kept them 
there. He was eminently successful in winning souls to 
Christ, an untiring worker, wearing himself out for his 
Master, always keeping in view his great aim, — the salva- 
tion of his fellow-men. 

His influence both in school-room and pulpit was widely 
felt for good, and every one who knew him loved and 
trusted him. When it was learned that his strength was 
declining, and that the shadows of the dark valley were 
fast gathering around his steps, many were the loving mes- 
sages that found their way to his bedside, and many came 
to gaze once more on earth upon their dearly-cherished 
pastor and teacher. 

And when the end came, and painlessly and quietly, in 
the consciousness of a serene faith, he fell asleep, a deep 

93 



IN MEMORIAM. 



wail of sorrow went forth from many hearts that "they 
should see his face no more." 

He still lives in the unfading affection of his old pupils 
and in the gratitude of many stricken hearts. His tender, 
true, affectionate nature solaced by its sympathy the dis- 
cords of many troubled lives and wove them into a full 
and perfect harmony. His own high aim he early fixed in 
life, — he reached it, — and his end was dignity and peace. 
His was a rare and beautiful example of a completed life ! 

" Thus in the hardest, grandest fight, 
The life-long fight that may not stay, 
But ever onward day and night, 

He bravely fought the upward way, 

" With childlike faith that asks not sight, 
Waits not for wonder or for sign, 
Still at the portal stands and waits 
For the message of the Lamb divine. 

" So with trustful soul in dawning light 
He sees the gates now opened wide, 
And angels clad in garments bright 
Await his coming, on every side. 

" Servant of Christ, thy work is done, 
And life's long warfare closed at last ; 
The battle fought, the victory won, 
For loved ones wait till night is past. 
94 



IN MEMORIAM. 



" He best can drink his cup of woe, 

And a kingly crown at last can gain. 
' If he patiently bears his cross below, 
He follows in his Master's train.' " 

During the last three years of his life his health had been 
failing, but so gradually that it was hardly perceptible to the 
home circle. To outside friends, who only saw him occa- 
sionally, it was more evident. He had for many years been 
subject to a chronic disease, and when old age added its 
powerful impetus to its attacks it wore out the enfeebled 
body. So slowly, however, did the fatal disease creep on 
that for many weeks before his final illness he seemed so 
well, so bright and cheerful, that his presence acted upon 
the domestic air like a bright sunbeam. He sat among us 
in his arm-chair on the piazza, or slowly walked out to the 
garden with us, and we, all unconscious that he was to leave 
us so soon, yet in the midst of our cheerfulness, felt the 
overshadowing of the dread mystery. Then his step became 
slower, — his walks less frequent; we, waiting in trembling, 
watched him, fearing lest all too soon " the silver cord 
would be loosed, the golden bowl be broken." And the 
vanishing sands of life kept falling, — falling into the far-off 
past, — and we knew they would never come back again ! 
How beautiful, yet how sad, those last summer days! 

Thus gradually declining, his sunny nature unclouded, 

95 



IN MEMORIAM. 



his faculties yet undimmed, he sank, like a tired child, to 
his final rest. His pure and beautiful life seemed to grow 
more spirit-like as the days went by, and even before he 
left us we felt that we were " entertaining an angel un- 
awares." The innocent, intuitive remark of a little friend 
(then visiting at the house), just emerging from babyhood, 
was so true and so touching that I cannot but repeat it. 
He said to us, " Grandpa will leave us soon and go and live 
with the angels !" So angel-like even then did he seem to 
the sweet child. The natural gentleness and sweetness of 
his disposition were always evident, particularly so in his 
sickness, and he bore his prolonged illness with patient trust 
and Christian resignation. His sickness, like his whole life, 
was a glorious triumph of faith. He rested back in the arms 
of Jesus, and no cloud overshadowed the perfect communion. 
He had many returns of the fatal disease, from which, 
after an illness of a few days, he would rally, and seem as 
well as usual ; but the final attack, which took place on the 
ist of August, 1880, left him very weak and debilitated, 
and, although he was able to leave his bed, he was not 
well enough to leave his room. He seemed to lose in- 
stead of gain strength in the weeks which followed. Sud- 
denly, but almost imperceptibly, as it were, to us, there 
was a great change ; we saw it in his face, we saw it in 

the face of his physician. Without any warning it had 

96 



IN MEMORIAM. 



come upon us. We were told he was leaving us ; " that 
he might not live through the day ; that he might not 
linger through an hour." God only knows the agony 
of that hour ! We could not let him go. We held him 
back to earth with our agonized prayers. God heard and 
answered them, and even when his feet had nearly touched 
the other shore, he came back to us. He revived, he 
rallied, and, joy unspeakable, he was conscious and called 
our names once more. Hope, with feeble accents, whispered 
that he might yet be spared to us. For three days he 
lingered with us. Then again the room was darkened by 
the wings of the death-angel. Nearer and nearer it came 
through that sad night of watching; lower and lower it 
hovered over the dear one; and finally, just as the stars 
of night were lost in the brightness of the dawn, his soul 
fluttered from its earthly casement of darkness into " the 
fulness of the perfect day." 

As heaven's gate opened to him, a smile, so sweet, so radi- 
ant, illumined the worn, tired face, that a glimpse of celestial 
glory seemed vouchsafed for one brief moment to us poor 
lingerers on earth. All through that Sabbath-day his face 
retained that angel look, that wondrous, saint-like sweetness. 

*^» "i* ^t? ^t* *1* *i* *i* 

?f* >p* *T* *T" *T* *!* 'T* 

We laid him to rest in Lake-View Cemetery, beside our 

mother, who had left us seven years before. 

97 



IN MEMORIAM. 



The day we bore him there was a beautiful October day. 
The maples on the roadside had lit their torches of gold 
and scarlet, while, in the fields around, the golden-rod and 
blue-eyed gentian still lingered. Beyond, by the river-side, 
burned the crimsoning banners of the sumach, while all 
along the way flashes of amber, bronze, and scarlet gleamed 
through the wooded hollows. A spray of woodbine, with 
its purple berries, — planted there by himself, — clung to the 
entrance of the cemetery enclosure, and under it we tenderly 
laid him to rest. 

Rest for the tired heart ! 

Rest for the weary eyes, 
Which, after life's long battle, 

Now ope in Paradise ! 

A noble Christian soldier 

Has laid his burden down, 
Has given o'er life's conflict, 

Has won a starry crown. 

He donned his armor early, 

And bravely waged the strife 
For Right and Truth and Honor 

In the great march of life. 

His life was one long poem, 

Replete with generous deed ; 
To aid his suffering brother 

His constant aim and creed. 
98 



IN MEMORIAM. 



And now the weary pilgrim, 
The father, pastor, friend, 

Has given up the conflict 
And reached his journey's end. 

His mission now is ended, 
His earthly warfare o'er, 
His memory, pure and fadeless, 
Will linger evermore. 

A smile of wondrous sweetness 
Illumes the face so fair. 

The aureole of the sainted 
Rests on the snow-white hair. 



99 




I> 




ff#^i-{#%l tsm. A^A^A f Y s A 



^!G^%ll^8iB8&¥)PaG@KKi0WMS&iiSK'ifiS^ 



iEEfP 0F CONGRESS 



022 216 793 



